Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3.
Frank Moore, Ed.

28. poetry by Gen. Lander.

The following stanzas were written by Brig.-Gen. Lander, on hearing that the Confederate troops had said that “Fewer of the Massachusetts officers would have been killed if they had not been too proud to surrender.”

We trust that the suggestion in the last stanza will be promptly met, and the Twentieth Massachusetts be at once recruited to its full complement.

“ours.”

Aye, deem us proud! for we are more
     Than proud of all our mighty dead;
Proud of the bleak and rock-bound shore
     A crowned oppressor cannot tread.

Proud of each rock, and wood, and glen,
     Of every river, lake, and plain;
Proud of the calm and earnest men
     Who claim the right and will to reign.

Proud of the men who gave us birth,
     Who battled with the stormy wave,
To sweep the red man from the earth,
     And build their homes upon his grave.

Proud of the holy summer morn,
     They traced in blood upon its sod;
The rights of freemen yet unborn,
     Proud of their language and their God.

Proud, that beneath our proudest dome,
     And round the cottage-cradled hearth,
There is a welcome and a home
     For every stricken race on earth.

Proud that yon slowly sinking sun
     Saw drowning lips grow white in prayer,
O'er such brief acts of duty done
     As honor gathers from despair.

Pride--'tis our watchword, “Clear the boats!”
     “Holmes, Putnam, Bartlett, Pierson — here!”
And while this crazy wherry floats,
     “Let's save our wounded!” cries Revere.

Old State--some souls are rudely sped--
     This record for thy Twentieth corps,
Imprisoned, wounded, dying, dead,
     It only asks, “Has Sparta more?”