The Battle for the Mississipppi.

(April, 1862.) When Israel camped by Migdol hoar, Down at her feet her shawm she threw, But Moses sung and timbrels rung For Pharaoh's standed crew. So God appears in apt events - The Lord is a man of war! So the strong wind to the muse is given In victory's roar. Deep be the ode that hymns the fleet - The fight by night - the fray Which bore our Flag against the powerful stream, And led it up to day. Dully through din of larger strife Shall bay that warring gun; But none the less to us who live It peals - an echoing one. The shock of ships, the jar of walls, The rush through thick and thin - The flaring fire-rafts, glare and gloom - Eddies, and shells that spin - The boom-chain burst, the hulks dislodged, The jam of gun-boats driven, Or fired, or sunk - made up a war Like Michael's waged with leven. The manned Varuna stemmed and quelled The odds which hard beset; The oaken flag-ship, half ablaze, Passed on and thundered yet; While foundering, gloomed in grimy flame, The Ram Manassas - hark the yell! - Plunged, and was gone; in joy or fright, The River gave a startled swell. They fought through lurid dark till dawn; The war-smoke rolled away With clouds of night, and showed the fleet In scarred yet firm array, Above the forts, above the drift Of wrecks which strife had made; And Farragut sailed up to the town And anchored - sheathed the blade. The moody broadsides, brooding deep, Hold the lewd mob at bay, While o'er the armed decks' solemn aisles The meek church-pennons play; By shotted guns the sailors stand, With foreheads bound or bare; The captains and the conquering crews Humble their pride in prayer. They pray; and after victory, prayer Is meet for men who mourn their slain; The living shall unmoor and sail, But Death's dark anchor secret deeps detain. Yet glory slants her shaft of rays Far through the undisturbed abyss; There must be other, nobler worlds for them Who nobly yield their lives in this.