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Charles Rufus Skinner.

Manual of patriotism : for use in the public schools of the State of New York online

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THE RESTORED UNION.

HE Boys in Blue! " When can their glory fade? Have you
not heard your fathers tell of the great Civil War — the
days from 1861 to 1865? How the flag, so dear to us all
in the Northland, was lowered at Fort Sumter on a sor-
rowful April day? How for four years the conflict raged
between the North and the South, with untold loss of life and treasure?
Many of you know the story in a far more touching and sacred way
than text-books could ever tell it to you.

"The Boys in Gray!" When can their valor fade? Fewer in
number than the Northern soldiers, with scantier resources, with the
war raging about their very hearthstones and the beautiful Southland
filled with lamentation and weeping everywhere, how courageously
they fought for the things they held dear! And to-day, thank Heaven,
the flag that was lowered at Sumter floats over an undivided land, a
united people, a Union restored!

SELECTIONS.

A little while after I came home from the last scene of all [the
funeral of Grant], I found that a woman's hand had collected the
insignia I had worn in the magnificent, melancholy pageant — the
orders assigning me to duty and the funeral scarfs and badges — and
had grouped and framed them; unbidden, silently, tenderly; and when
I reflected that the hands that did this were those of a loving Southern
woman, whose father had fallen on the Confederate side in the battle, I
said: "The war indeed is over; let us have peace!" Gentlemen,
soldiers, comrades, the silken folds that twine about us here, for all
their soft and careless grace, are yet as strong as hooks of steel! They
hold together a united people and a great nation; for realizing the
truth at last — with no wounds to be healed and no stings of defeat
to remember — the South says to the North, as simply and as truly as
was said three thousand years ago in that far away meadow upon the
margin of the mystic sea: " Whether thou goes't, I will go; and where
thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God,
my God." — Henry Watterson, at banquet of the Army of the Tennessee
in Chicago. ^55)



5 6 MANUAL OF PATRIOTISM.

THE PALMETTO AND THE PINE.

There grows a fair palmetto in the sunny Southern lands;
Upon the stern New England hills a somber pine tree stands,
And each towers like a monument above the perished brave;
A grave 'neath the palmetto — beneath the pine a grave.

The Carolina widow comes this bright May day to spread
Magnolia and jessamine above her soldier dead.
And the Northern mother violets strews upon her son below, —
Her only son, who fell so many weary years ago.

Tears for the gallant Yankee boy — one of Grant's heroes he.

Tears for the stalwart Southern man — the man who marched with Lee.

But love, and only love, between the lonely ones who twine

Their wreaths 'neath the palmetto — their chaplets 'neath the pine.

Oh, tried tree of the Southland! from out whose trunks were wrought
The ramparts of that glorious fort where Sergeant Jasper fought;
Oh, true tree of the Northland! whose pictured form supplied
The emblem for our earliest flag, that waved where Warren died —

Still watch the dead you've watched so long, the dead who died so well;
And matrons mourn, as mourn you must, your lost dear ones who fell;
But joy and peace and hope to all, now North and South combine
In one grand whole, as one soil bears the palmetto and the pine!

— Manley H. Pike.



Sectional lines no longer mar the map of the United States. Sec-
tional feeling no longer holds back the love we bear each other. Frater-
nity is the national anthem, sung by a chorus of forty-five states, and
our territories at home and beyond the seas. The Union is once more
the common atlas of our love and loyalty, our devotion and sacrifice.
The old flag again waves over us in peace, with new glories which your
sons and ours have this day added to its sacred folds. * * * What
a glorious future awaits us if unitedly, wisely aricl bravely we face the
new problems now pressing upon us, determined to solve them for
right and humanity! * * * Re-united! one country again and one
country forever! Proclaim it from the press and pulpit! Teach it in
the schools ! Write it across the skies ! — William McKinley, on his
Southern tour, in 1898.



O STARRY FLAG OF UNION, HAIL!



Words and music by Charles W. Johnson.



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By permission Silver, Burdhtt & Co. From "Songs of the Nation."



MANUAL OF PATRIOTISM.

GROUP III.
THE FLAG WAVES OVER

i. The Camp Songj The Camp Fhg

2. The Hospital Song, The Good Comrade.

3. The Exposition Buildings Song, The Centennial Hymn.

4. The Consulate Song, Many Flags in Many Lands.

( The Land Song, Our Own Dear Land.

I The Sea Song, Ocean-Guarded Flag.

(59)




THE CAMP.

HEN your fathers or your brothers enlist to fight for their
country, they do not always march for the battle-field.
They are sent at first " into camp," as we say. Some of
you have seen these camps, — long rows of white tents,
with streets stretching between the rows on either side.
Here, the brave men stay for a long time, spending their time in
drilling, in doing guard duty, and in getting ready for the hardships of
a soldier's life. Then, perhaps after months of waiting, the Secretary
of War, at Washington, sends word to them to " break camp " and
hurry away to the scene of conflict.

Again, a camp is often placed at the very edge of a battle-field,
and there the soldiers, in their tents, try to get a little sleep, not know-
ing but that the bugle may call them "to arms" at any minute.
What a joy it is to a soldier, whether in drill-camp or battle-camp, to
see floating from the tall staff the banner of the stars and stripes, in
whose folds he finds courage for the day of battle!

SELECTIONS.

AN INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon;

A mile or so away,
On a little mound, Napoleon

Stood on our storming day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,

Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow,

Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps, he mused, " My plans,

That soar, to earth, may fall,
Let once my army leader, Lannes,

Waver at yonder wall,"



5 2 MANUAL OF PATRIOTISM.

Out 'twixt the battery-smoke, there flew

A rider, bound on bound
Full-gallcping; nor bridle drew

Until he reached the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy,

And held himself erect
By just his horse's mane, a boy;

You hardly could suspect —
(So tight he kept his lips compressed

Scarce any blood came through)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast

Was all but shot in two.

" Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace

We've got you Ratisbon !
The Marshal's in the market place,

And you'll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans

Where I, to heart's desire,
Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans

Soared up again like fire.

The chiefs eye flashed; but presently

Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother-eagle's eye

When her bruised eaglet breathes:
"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride

Touched to the quick, he said:
"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,

Smiling, the boy fell dead.

— Robert Broivning.

On the morning of July ist, 1862, five thousand Confederate
cavalry advanced upon Booneville, Mo., then held by Col. Philip
Sheridan with less than a thousand troopers. The Federal line, being
strongly entrenched, was able to hold its ground against this greatly
superior force. But Sheridan, fearful of being outflanked, directed a
young captain to take a portion of two companies, make a rapid detour,
charge the enemy in the rear and throw its line into confusion, thus
making possible a simultaneous and successful attack in front. Sheri-
dan said to him: " I expect of your command the quick and desperate
work usually imposed upon a forlorn hope," at the same time bidding



THE FLAG WAVES OVER. 63

him what promised to be an eternal farewell. Ninety-two men rode
calmly out knowing the supreme moment of their lives had come.
What was in their hearts during that silent ride? What lights and
shadows flashed across the cameras of their souls? To one pale boy,
there came the vision of a quaint old house, a white-haired woman on
her knees in prayer, an open Bible by her side, God's peace upon her
face. Another memory held a cottage, all imbedded in the shade of
sheltering trees and clinging vines; stray bits of sunshine around the
open door; within, a fair young mother, crooning lullabies above a
baby's crib. And one old grizzled hero seems to see, in mists of un-
shed tears, a bush-grown corner of the barnyard fence, and through
the rails a blended picture of faded calico, and golden curls, and laugh-
ing eyes. And then the little column halted on a bit of rising ground
and faced — destiny.

Before them was a brigade of cavalry three thousand strong.
That way lay death. Behind them were the open fields, the sheltering
woods, safety, and dishonor. Just for a moment every cheek was
blanched. A robin sang unheeded in a neighboring limb; clusters of
purple daisies bloomed unseen upon the grassy slope; the sweet fresh
breath of early summer filled the air, unfelt by all. They only saw
the dear old flag of Union overhead; they only knew that foes of
country blocked the road in front; they only heard the ringing voice
of their gallant leader ordering the charge, and with a yell, the little

troop swept on.

Flashed every sabre bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Charging an army,
While all the world wondered.

So sudden and unexpected was the attack, so desperate and irresistible
the charge that this handful of men cut their way through the heart of
the whole brigade. Then, in prompt obedience to the calm command
of their captain they wheeled, re-formed, and charged again. At this
opportune moment, while the Confederates were in confusion, Sheri-
dan's whole line dashed forward with mighty cheers, and the day was
Avon. That night, forty of the ninety-two kept their eternal bivouac
on the field of battle, their white faces kissed by the silent stars. — John
M. Thurston.



64 MANUAL OF PATRIOTISM.

THE SONG OF THE CAMP.

" Give us a song! " the soldiers cried,
The outer trenches guarding,

When the heated guns of the camps allied
Grew weary of bombarding.

The dark Redan, in silent scoff,
Lay grim and threatening, under;

And the tawny mound of the Malakoff
No longer belched its thunder.

There was a pause. A guardsman said:
"We storm the forts to-morrow;

Sing while we may, another day
Will bring enough of sorrow."

They lay along the battery's side,
Below the smoking cannon:

Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde,
And from the banks of Shannon.

They sang of love, and not of fame;

Forgot was Britain's glory;
Each heart recalled a different name,

But all sang " Annie Laurie."

Voice after voice caught up the song,

Until its tender passion
Rose like an anthem, rich and strong, —

Their battle-eve confession.



Beyond the darkening ocean burned
The bloody sunset's embers,

While the Crimean valleys learned
How English love remembers.

And once again, a fiery hell

Rained on the Russian quarters,

With scream of shot, and burst of shell,
And bellowing of the mortars.



THE FLAG WAVES OVER. Q,

And Irish Nora's eyes are dim

For a singer, dumb and gory;
And English Mary mourns for him

Who sang of "Annie Laurie."

Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest

Your youth and valor wearing.:
The bravest are the tenderest, —

The loving are the daring.

— Bayard Taylor.



THE FLAG OF FREEDOM.

The flag of Freedom floats in pride
Above the hills our fathers saved;

It floats as, in the battle tide,
Above the brave and good it waved.

It wakes the thought of other days,
When they, who sleep beneath its shade,

Stood foremost in the battle blaze
And bared for us the patriot blade.

High o'er its stars our spirits leap
To gratulate their deathless fame,

With them the jubilee to keep,

And hail our country's honor'd named.

Above the plains, above the rocks,
Above our fathers' honor'd graves,

Free from a thousand battle shocks,
Our striped and starry banner waves.

What was the price which bade it ride
Above our loved and native plains?

And are there men would curb its pride,
And bind our eagle fast in chains?

5



66



MANUAL OF PATRIOTISM.



Spirit of Washington, awake!

And watch o'er Freedom's chartered land;
The battle peal again may break,

Again in arms thy children stand!

— Alonzo Lewis.

REVEILLE.

The morning is cheery, my boys, arouse!
The dew shines bright on the chestnut boughs,
And the sleepy mist on the river lies,
Though the east is flushing with crimson dyes.

Awake! awake! awake!

O'er field and wood and brake,

With glories newly born,

Comes on the blushing morn.
Azvake! awake!

You have dreamed of your homes and your friends all night;
You have basked in your sweethearts' smiles so bright;
Come, part with them all for awhile again,—
Be lovers in dreams; when awake, be men.
Turn out! turn out! turn out!
You have dreamed full long, I know,

Turn out! turn out! turn out!
The east is all aglow.

Turn out! turn out!



From every valley and hill there come
The clamoring voices of fife and drum;
And out on the fresh, cool morning air
The soldiers are swarming everywhere.
Fall in! fall in! fall in!
Every man in his place.

Fall in! fall in! fall in!
Each with a cheerful face.
Fall in! fall in!



— Michael O'Connor.



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THE HOSPITAL.

/AR is a very cruel thing, never to be begun unless
the honor or safety of the nation demands it;
never to be continued for a single hour beyond
that which is needful. For in every war, many
brave men are killed and many more are wounded.
Now, it is for these poor wounded fellows, as well as for those who
are taken sick, that hospitals are needed. Many of them are only
large tents, put up outside the line of battle. In these hospital-
tents, surgeons and nurses (noble-hearted women) do all they can
to relieve the sick and wounded. If they get better, they are often
sent to a permanent hospital, or better still to the dear home from
which they started for the war.

Nowadays, over every battle-field hospital in all civilized countries
is seen the flaming " Red Cross " of the society of that name. That is
the pledge that the sick and hurt soldiers will not be attacked by the
enemy. And yet, even with that cross of mercy, how dear to the
wounded patriot is the sight of that flag for which he is willing to
give his life — " the last full measure of devotion."

In hospitals, women are the " ministering angels." What a fine,
patriotic exercise children could make up from the services of such
immortal names as Florence Nightingale, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and
Clara Barton. Theirs is a heroism and patriotism no less grand and
self-sacrificing than that of the bravest soldier they ever nursed back

to life and health.

(69)



70



MANUAL OF PAlRIOli^M.
SELECTIONS.

SANTA FILOMENA.

Whene'er a noble deed is wrought,
Whene'er is spoken a noble thought,

Our hearts in glad surprise,

To higher levels rise.

The tidal wave of deeper souls
Into our inmost being rolls,

And lifts us unawares

Out of all meaner cares.

Honor to those whose words or deeds -
Thus help us in our daily needs,

And by their overflow

Raise us from what is low!

Thus thought I. as by night I read

Of the great army of the dead.
The trenches cold and damp,
The starved and frozen camp —

The wounded from the battle-plain,
In dreary hospitals of pain,

The cheerless corridors,

The cold and stony floors.

Lo! in that house of misery
A lady with a lamp I see

Pass through the glimmering gloom,.

And flit from room to room.

And slow, as in a dream of bliss,
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss

Her shadow, as it falls

Upon the darkening walls.

As if a door in heaven should be
Opened and then closed suddenly,
The vision came and went,
The light shone and was spent.

On England's annals through the long
Hereafter of her speech and song,

That light its rays shall cast

From portals of the past.

A Lady with a Lamp shall stand
In the great history of the land,

A noble type of good,

Heroic womanhood.



THE FLAG WAVES OVER. ~ L

Nor even shall be wanting here
The palm, the lily, and the spear,

The symbols that of yore

Saint Filomena bore.

— H. JV. Longfellow.



AN INCIDENT.



Do you remember, in that disastrous siege in India, when the little
Scotch girl raised her head from her pallet in the hospital, and said to
the sickening hearts of the English: " I hear the bagpipes; the Camp-
bells are coming! " And they said, " No, Jessie; it is delirium." " No,
I know it; I heard it far off." And in an hour, the pibroch burst upon
their glad ears, and the banner of St. George floated in triumph over
their heads. — George William Curtis.

WOMEN OF THE WAR.
(An anonymous poem composed during the Civil War.)

The dim light of the hospital

Shone on the beds of pain,
And the long night seemed endless,

When in walked " Betsy Jane."
" My God! is this a woman? "

Said one poor soldier boy,
And tears rolled down his manly cheeks,

But they were tears of joy.

And chaos turned to order,

As Betsy Jane stepped in,
And cleanliness which, we are told,

" To godliness is kin."
Hard tack and salted bacon

To chicken broth gave way,
And sanitary stores came in,

And beef tea won the day.
" Oh, see my soft white pillow!

My bed is clean once more."
And " some one's darling " smiled upon

This Woman of the War.



72



MANUAL OF PATRIOTISM.

I know not if our " Betsy Jane "

Was fair to other eyes,
But to her " Boys in Blue " she seemed

An angel from the skies.
Her apron and her gown of serge

Each soldier loved to see,
And blessed her footsteps as she brought

Such "heavenly toast and tea."
All the sweet charities of home

In plenty there she poured,
And each day's work now brought its own

" Exceeding great reward!"

It was not in the earthquake,

Or in the fiery flame,
But in the soothing gentle voice

That then God's angel came.
And when He comes whose right it is

Within our hearts to reign,
And reads from out the Book of Life

The name of " Betsy Jane "—

Oh, in that great Muster Roll

Before the Judge of all,
When faithful servants of the Lord

Shall answer to His call,
Perhaps He'll say to some of them:

" For inasmuch as ye
Have done it to the least of these,

Ye've done it unto Me."
And then with psalms and tossing palms,

Like banners waving o'er,
The pearly gates will open wide

To " Women of the War."



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EXPOSITION BUILDINGS.

N the year 1876 there was a great exposition, or exhibition, at
Philadelphia, to celebrate the one hundredth anniversary of
our independence as a nation. To that Quaker city gathered
people from every part o£ the globe — many bringing with
them strange wares or costly merchandise from across the
seas. It was a sight never to be forgotten; it made Americans better
acquainted with all the nations of Christendom.

In the year 1893, another and greater exposition was held at Chi-
cago, to celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of the landing of
Columbus upon our shores. So many were the buildings, so beautiful
even by day, so fairy-like by night when lighted by thousands of dazzling
lights, that the millions who saw the sight called it the finest the world
had ever known.

But the fairest vision, after all, both at the " Centennial " and the
" Columbian Exposition " were the countless flags of red, white and
blue that flamed out by night and day — telling of the peace and pros-
perity of our nation, and inviting the people of every nation to a share
in our happiness.

SELECTIONS.

A travelled Frenchman was asked the other day how the buildings
of the Columbian World's Fair compared with those of the last ex-
position in the French capital. After reflecting a moment, he replied:
" The buildings at Chicago are what you might have expected at Paris;



Online LibraryCharles Rufus SkinnerManual of patriotism : for use in the public schools of the State of New York → online text (page 5 of 31)