Accession: A10007
Editorial Title: Maj Anderson and Our Country
Author: Mary Baker Eddy 
Date: February 6, 1861
Manuscript Description: Handwritten by Mary Baker Eddy on unlined paper from Rumney, New Hampshire.
Editorial Note: This poem references Major Robert Anderson’s command at Fort Sumter in South Carolina, prior to the outbreak of the Civil War.
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A10007
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Reproduced from the archive of The Mary Baker Eddy Library
Maj Anderson and Our Country

Brave Anderson, thou patriot– soul sublime Thou morning Star of errors' darkest time! Prince of the lion–hearted Jackson mould, Thy valor mocks the rebel at his hold

O! weak Buchanan, join thy country's cause And aid her champions to defend her laws; Our Eagles' eye–beams dart unwonted fires — His kindling glance the warrior's heart inspires

Is honor's lofty soul forever fled? Is virtue lost? is martial ardor dead? A cankering where vested power should dwell! No second Washington — no dauntless Tell?

Save with Fort Sumter’sAs Written:Sumpter's hero and the band Who round their banner, firm, exultant stand; Illustrious names! still, still, united beam The hero's halo and the poet's theme

Is this the spot to write our Bunker Hill, Freedom's next battlegroundAs Written:battle ground for fame to fill? Or but the feint which Southern traitors play To ensnare brave Scott on the inaugural day?

Have honored Scott and Cass, by one betrayed, The zeal of patriot-hearts in vain displayed? Shall treason gird our Capital around, Till blood or fire shall lick the sacred ground!

Each hour hath language to my quickened sense, That murmurs As Written: murmurers loudly – "drive the traitors As Written: traiters thence", This treacherous lull — delaying righteous deeds, Portentous bodes the evil that it breeds.

But ah! to him whose self-accusingAs Written:self accusing thought Whispers 'twas he the desolation wrought— He who his country and his faith betrayed, Draining the nation's wealth this hour to aid!

O'er the chill bosom's depth of solitude— Let him in dark abandonment now brood, Review the trophies that for each foul deed, The reeking souls in Hell should blush and bleed

Scarce has our grandsire's sword had rest to rust, Or e'en the hand that drew it, turned to dust; Till hostile As Written: hostil arms are furrowing o'er the soil— Won by their sword their sword, made fertile by their toil.

Yet would I yield a husband, child, to fight Or die the unyielding guardians of right, Than that the lifebloodAs Written:life blood circling through their veins, Should warm a heart to forge new human chains.

I then could mourn them proudly, and my grief. In woman's sacrifice might seek relief, A noble sorrow, cherished to the last— When every meaner woe had long been past

O! thou Supreme, who reign'st o'er human power, God of our fathers, still avert the hour When sins' repentance shall be sealed in blood, To stain this nation blessed o'er field and flood.

A10007
-
Reproduced from the archive of The Mary Baker Eddy Library
Maj Anderson and Our Country

Brave Andreerson, thou patriot– soul sublime Thou morning Star of errors' darkest time! Prince of the lion–hearted Jackson mould, Thy valor mocks the rebel at his hold

O! weak Buchanan, join thy country's cause And aid her champions to defend her laws; Our Eagles' eye–beams dart unwonted fires — His kindling glance the warrior's heart inspires

Is honor's lofty soul forever fled? Is virtue lost? is martial ardor dead? A cankering where vested power should dwell! No second Washington — no dauntless Tell?

Save with Fort Sumpter'sCorrected:Sumter’s hero and the band Who round their banner, firm, exultant stand; Illustrious names! still, still, united beam The hero's halo and the poet's theme

Is this the spot to write our Bunker Hill, Freedom's next battle groundCorrected:battleground for fame to fill? Or but the feint which Southern traitors play To ensnare brave Scott on the inaugural day?

Have honored Scott and Cass, by one betrayed, The zeal of patr [?] Unclear or illegible iot-hearts in vain displayed? Shall treason gird our Capital around, Till blood or fire shall lick the sacred ground!

Each hour hath language to my quickened sense, That murmurers Corrected: murmurs loudly – "drive the traiters Corrected: traitors thence", This treacherous lull — delaying righteous deeds, Portentous bodes the evil that it breeds.

But ah! to him whose self accusingCorrected:self-accusing thought Whispers 'twas he the desolation wrought— He who his country and his faith betrayed, Draining the nation's wealth this hour to aid!

O'er the chill bosom's depth of solitude— Let him in dark abandonment now brood, Review the trophies that for each foul deed, The reeking souls in Hell should blush and bleed

Scarce has our grandsire's sword had rest to rust, Or e'en the hand that drew it, turned to dust; Till hostil Corrected: hostile arms are furrowing o'er the soil— Won by their sword their sword, made fertile by their toil.

Yet would I yield a husband, child, to fight Or die the unyielding guardians of right, Than that the life bloodCorrected:lifeblood circling through their veins, Should warm a heart to forge new human chains.

I then could mourn them proudly, and my grief. In woman's sacrifice might seek relief, A noble sorrow, cherished to the last— When every meaner woe had long been past

O! thou Supreme, who reign'st o'er human power, God of our fathers, still avert the hour When sins' repentance shall be sealed in blood, To stain this nation blessed o'er field and flood.

 
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Rumney, New Hampshire