 How grace this hallowed day? Shall happy bells, from yonder ancient spire, Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire Round which the children play? Alas! for many a moon, That tongueless tower hath cleaved the Sabbath air, Mute as an obelisk of ice, aglare Beneath an Arctic noon. Shame to the foes that drown Our psalms of worship with their impious drum, The sweetest chimes in all the land lie dumb In some far rustic town. There, let us think, they keep, Of the dead Yules which here beside the sea They’ve ushered in with old-world, English glee, Some echoes in their sleep. How shall we grace the day? With feast, and song, and dance, and antique sports, And shout of happy children in the courts, And tales of ghost and fay? Is there indeed a door, Where the old pastimes, with their lawful noise, And all the merry round of Christmas joys, Could enter as of yore? Would not some pallid face Look in upon the banquet, calling up Dread shapes of battles in the wassail cup, And trouble all the place? How could we bear the mirth, While some loved reveler of a year ago Keeps his mute Christmas now beneath the snow, In cold Virginian earth? How shall we grace the day? Ah! let the thought that on this holy morn The Prince of Peace — the Prince of Peace was born, Employ us, while we pray! Pray for the peace which long Hath left this tortured land, and haply now Holds its white court on some far mountain’s brow, There hardly safe from wrong! Let every sacred fane Call its sad votaries to the shrine of God, And, with the cloister and the tented sod, Join in one solemn strain! With pomp of Roman form, With the grave ritual brought from England’s shore, And with the simple faith which asks no more Than that the heart be warm! He, who, till time shall cease, Will watch that earth, where once, not all in vain, He died to give us peace, may not disdain A prayer whose theme is — peace. Perhaps ere yet the Spring Hath died into the Summer, over all The land, the peace of His vast love shall fall, Like some protecting wing. Oh, ponder what it means! Oh, turn the rapturous thought in every way! Oh, give the vision and the fancy play, And shape the coming scenes! Peace in the quiet dales, Made rankly fertile by the blood of men, Peace in the woodland, and the lonely glen, Peace in the peopled vales! Peace in the crowded town, Peace in a thousand fields of waving grain, Peace in the highway and the flowery lane, Peace on the wind-swept down! Peace on the farthest seas, Peace in our sheltered bays and ample streams, Peace wheresoe’er our starry garland gleams, And peace in every breeze! Peace on the whirring marts, Peace where the scholar thinks, the hunter roams, Peace, God of Peace! peace, peace, in all our homes, And peace in all our hearts! Henry Timrod (1828-1867) was the Poet Laureate of the Confederacy.
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 Poem by Mirabeau Buonaparte Lamar Inscribed to the Pioneer Preacher of Texas. NAY — tell me not of dangers dire That lie in duty’s path; A Warrior of the Cross can feel No fear of human wrath. Where’er the Prince of Darkness holds His earthly reign abhorred, Sword of the Spirit! thee I draw, And battle for the Lord. I go, I go to break the chains That bind the erring mind, And give the freedom that I feel, To all of human kind; But oh, I wear no burnished steel, And seek no gory field; My weapon is the Word of God, His promise is my shield. And thus equipped, why need I fear, Though hosts around me rise? -- There is a power in gospel truth No heathen can despise; And he who boldly fights with that, Will through more perils wade Than the vain warrior, trusting to His bright Damascus blade. No blasts by land or sea can shake The purpose of my soul; The tempest of a thousand winds May sweep from pole to pole, Yet still serene, and fixed in faith, All fear of death I scorn -- I know it is my Father’s work -- He’s with me in the storm. Then let me go where duty calls, Where God himself commands -- Bearing the banner of his Son To dark and distant lands; And if the high and holy cause Require my early fall, A recreant he who would not die For Him who died for all. This poem and accompanying commentary appear in The Land They Loved: Volume I, Southern Poets And Poems, 1606 -1860, of the series available from Shotwell Publishing.
 CARRIE BELLE SINCLAIR (1839—1883) of Georgia served as a nurse in the Confederate hospitals in Savannah. She was a niece of the inventor Robert Fulton. Much of her verse was set to familiar Confederate music. Oh, yes, I am a Southern girl, And glory in the name, And boast it with far greater pride Than glittering wealth and fame. We envy not the Northern girl, Her robes of beauty rare, Though diamonds grace her snowy neck, And pearls bedeck her hair. CHORUS-- Hurrah! Hurrah! For the sunny South so dear; Three cheers for the homespun dress The Southern ladies wear! The homespun dress is plain, I know, My hat’s palmetto, too; But then it shows what Southern girls For Southern rights will do. We send the bravest of our land, To battle with the foe And we will lend a helping hand-- We love the South, you know. CHORUS-- Hurrah! Hurrah! For the sunny South so dear; Three cheers for the homespun dress The Southern ladies wear! Now Northern goods are out of date; And since old Abe’s blockade, We Southern girls can be content With goods that’s Southern made. We send our sweethearts to the war; But, dear girls, never mind-- Your soldier—love will ne’er forget The girl he left behind. CHORUS-- Hurrah! Hurrah! For the sunny South so dear; Three cheers for the homespun dress The Southern ladies wear! The soldier is the lad for me-- A brave heart I adore; And when the sunny South is free, And when fighting is no more, I’ll choose me then a lover brave From all that gallant band; The soldier lad I love the best Shall have my heart and hand. CHORUS-- Hurrah! Hurrah! For the sunny South so dear; Three cheers for the homespun dress The Southern ladies wear! The Southern land’s a glorious land, And has a glorious cause; Then cheer, three cheers for Southern rights, And for the Southern boys! We scorn to wear a bit of silk, A bit of Northern lace, But make our homespun dresses up, And wear them with a grace. CHORUS-- Hurrah! Hurrah! This poem and accompanying commentary appear in Confederate Poets & Poems, Volume I, The Land They Loved, Volume 2 of the series available from Shotwell Publishing.
 Mary Bayard Devereux Clarke (1827—1886) of North Carolina, was educated at home by her father, a Yale graduate. She was able to travel widely and began writing early. Her first book was Wood-Notes (1854), after which she contributed poems prolifically to American and European periodicals. She was gifted in languages and did much translation from European poets, including Victor Hugo’s verse. Her plainspoken and down-to-earth writing has often been noted. Her husband was William J. Clarke, a gallant officer in the Mexican War, judge, railroad president, and colonel of the 24th North Carolina Regiment, CSA. They were introduced and married by her uncle Leonidas Polk. Col. Clarke’s health was destroyed by a Yankee prison and their later years were difficult. Her comments from a publication of her family papers, Live Your Own Life, are often quoted by historians. She continued after the war to be a prolific poet on Christian faith and other themes, and her work will appear again in a later volumes of this series. A few moments before Stonewall Jackson's Death, a sweet smile overspread his face, and he murmured quietly, with an air of relief: ‘Let us cross the river and rest under the shade of the trees’.
This poem and accompanying commentary appear in Confederate Poets & Poems, Volume I
The Land They Loved, Volume 2 available from Shotwell Publishing.  The music and lyrics for this song exist in manuscript form. It is apparently a response to a British outrage against the American navy in the Chesapeake/Leopard affair, and affair which led to the War of 1812 and to John C. Calhoun's entry into national politics. The song is thought to have been used at public events during the antebellum period.
This entry is an excerpt from the book Southern Poets and Poems, 1606 -1860 The Land They Loved, Volume 1, 2024 Shotwell Publishing.
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