No more opposed in deadly strife,
Brother to brother, sire to son,
They proved their valor life for life,
Now side by side they sleep,- as one.

Sleep on, brave hearts, and take your rest,
A hundred million strong and free
Shall guard in each heroic breast

Your pure and priceless legacy.
'Twas not in vain, O noble band,
Your blood imbued Columbia's sod,
United now her children stand, -

One flag, one country, and one God.

STRIKE THE BLOW.

Strike the Blow.

HE four-way winds of the world have blown,

THE

And the ships have ta'en the wave;

The legions march to the trumps' shrill call 'Neath the flag of the free and brave.

The hounds of the sea

Have trailed the foe,

They have trailed and tracked him down,

Then wait no longer, but strike, O land, With the dauntless strength of thy strong right hand,

Strike the blow!

The armored fleets, with their grinning guns,

Have the Spaniard in his lair;

They have tracked him down where the ramparts

frown,

And they'll halt and hold him there.

They have steamed in his wake,

They have seen him go,

They have bottled and corked him up;

Then send him home to the underfoam,

Till the wide sea shakes to the far blue

dome;

Strike the blow!

The Cuban dead and the dying call,

The children starved in the light
Of the aid that waits till the hero deed
Breaks broad on the tyrant's might.
The starved and the weak

In their hour of woe

Are calling, land, on thee;

Then why delay in thy dauntless sway?
On, on, to the charge of the freedom-way,
Strike the blow!

They have ta'en the winds of the Carib seas,
Thy fleets that know not fear;

Their ribs of steel have yearned to reel

In the dance of the cannoneer.

Thy sons of the blue

That wait to go

Would leap with a will to the charge,

Then send them the word so long deferred;

They have listened late, but they have not heard;

Strike the blow!

They have listened late in the desolate land,
They have looked through brimming eyes,
And starving women have held dead babes
To their heart with a thousand sighs.

STRIKE THE BLOW.

On, on to the end,

O land, the foe

Beneath thy sword shall fall,

Thy ships of steel have tracked them home, Ye are king of the land and king of the foam, Strike the blow!

-F. McK.

Hold Dot Sort, for De Vos Coming.

AUL in der plank, full speed ahead,

HA

Undt so dose shteamers sailed avay,
Undt tears undt prayers dose ships go mit,
Undt aching hearts pehind dem shtay.
Vhen dose ships pass der Golden Gate,
Undt dot Pacific's swell dey feel,
Vat strike deir pows, vat lap deir sides,
Undt quiver dem from truck to keel,

Say, den a chill vos in mein plood,
I lifd mein eyes oop to der sky,
Undt from each ship vat sailed avay,
I see Old Glory masthead high.
"Mein Gott," I cried, "I vos olt mans,
But nefer I see dot pefore,
Dot Yankee ships mit soltjer poys
Vos sailing for a foreign shore."

Mit swords undt peestols, undt mit guns,
Mit all war's horrid tools dey go.
To haf a picnic?—No, mein Gott,
To pattle mit a foreign foe.