Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him, be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me: As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. .Questions for Study 1. What is "the truth" that this song celebrates? What evidences are there of the author's intense devotion to it? 2. How many Biblical allusions can you find in these lines? Why do you think the author introduced so many? 3. Can you explain why this song became so popular among the soldiers of the North during the Civil War? LITTLE GIFFEN OF TENNESSEE FRANCIS 0. TICKNOR Out of the focal and foremost fire, "Take him—and welcome!" the surgeon said; "Much your doctor can help the dead!" And so we took him and brought him where The balm was sweet on the summer air; And we laid him down on a wholesome bed- Weary war with bated breath, Spoke of the spirit that would not die, And didn't, nay, more! in Death's despite "Johnston's pressed at the front, they say!" A tear, his first, as he bade good-by, "I'll write, if spared." There was news of a fight, But none of Giffen. He did not write! I sometimes fancy that were I king I'd give the best, on his bended knee, For little Giffen of Tennessee! Notes Lazarus: covered with sores; see Luke xvi, verse 20. Johnston: a general in the Confederate Army. Knights of the Golden Ring: those of King Arthur's knights who had vowed to perform brave and chivalric deeds. Questions for Study 1. You will see that in this poem a great deal is told in a very few words. How do you know to what army Giffen belonged? What became of him? Retell the story, stating clearly all that the poet suggests. 2. Give reasons why you think little Giffen deserves the tribute contained in the last stanza. THE NEW SOUTH HENRY W. GRADY In speaking to the toast with which you have honored me, I accept the term "The New South" as in no sense disparaging to the old. Dear to me, sir, is the home of my childhood, and the traditions of my people. I would not, if I could, dim the glory they won in peace and war, or by word or deed take aught from the splendor and grace of their civilization, never equaled, and perhaps never to be equaled in its chivalric strength and grace. There is a New South, not through protest against the old, but because of new conditions, new adjustments, and, if you please, new ideas and aspirations. It is to this that I address myself, and to the consideration of which I hasten.. Dr. Talmage has drawn for you, with a master hand, the picture of your returning armies. He has told you how, in the pomp and circumstance of war, they came back to you, marching with proud and victorious tread, reading their glory in a nation's eyes! Will you bear with me while I tell you of another army that sought its home at the close of the late war? An army that marched home in defeat and not in victory-in pathos and not in splendor, but in glory that equaled yours, and to hearts as loving as ever welcomed heroes home. Let me picture to you the footsore Confederate soldier, as, buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was to bear testimony to his children of his fidelity and faith, he turned his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865. Think of him as ragged, half-starved, heavy-hearted, enfeebled by want and wounds; having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in silence, and, lifting his tearstained and pallid face for the last time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, pulls his gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and painful journey to his old home. What does he find?-let me ask you who went to your homes eager to find, in the welcome you had justly earned, full payment for four years' sacrifice-what does his he find when, having followed the battle-stained cross against overwhelming odds, dreading death not half so much as surrender, he reaches the home he left so prosperous and beautiful? He finds his house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves free, his stock killed, his barn empty, his trade destroyed, his money worthless; his social system, feudal in its magnificence, swept away; people without law or legal status; his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy on his shoulders. Crushed by defeat, his very traditions gone; without money, credit, employment, material training; and besides all this, confronted with the gravest problem that ever met human intelligence-the establishing of a status for the vast body of his liberated slaves. What does he do this hero in gray, with a heart of gold? Does he sit down in sullenness and despair? Not for a day. Surely God, who had stripped him of his prosperity, inspired him in his adversity. As ruin was never before so overwhelming, never was restoration swifter. The soldier stepped from the trenches into the furrow; horses that had charged Federal guns marched before the plow, and the fields that ran red with human blood in April were green with the harvest in June; women reared in luxury . . . with a patience and heroism that fit women always as a garment, gave their hands to work. There was little bitterness in all this. Cheerfulness and frankness prevailed. . . . From the ashes left us in 1864 we have raised a brave and beautiful city; somehow or other we have caught the sunshine in |