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MUMFORD
by Porter, Ina M.

Where murdered Mumford lies
Bewailed in bitter sighs,
Low bowed beneath the flag he loved
Martyrs of Liberty,
Defenders of the Free!
Come, humbly nigh,
And learn to die!
Ah, Freedom on that day
Turned fearfully away,
While pitying angels lingered near,
To gaze upon the sod
Red with a martyr's blood;
And woman's tear
Fell on his bier!
Oh, God! that he should die
Beneath a Southern sky!
Upon a felon's gallows swinging,
Murdered by tyrant hand,—
While round a helpless band,
On
Butler's
name
Poured scorn and shame.
But hark! loud pæans fly
From earth to vaulted sky,
He's crowned at Freedom's holy throne!
List! sweet-voiced Israfel
Tolls for the martyr's knell!
Shout Southrons high,
Our battle cry!
Come all of Southern blood,
Come kneel to Freedom's God!
Here at her crimson altar swear!
Accursed forever more
The flag that Mumford tore,
And o'er his grave
Our colors wave.
Ina M. Porter.

Source: Project Gutenberg

Source: Project Gutenberg