As He Points To That Flag Floating High On The Spire.]

Heaven bless the new year that is just ushered in; May the Rebels repent of their folly and sin, Depart from their idols, extend the right hand, And pledge that the Union forever shall stand. May they see that the rending of fetter and chain Is _their_ triumph as well--their unspeakable gain; That the Union dissevered and weltering in blood Could yield them no profit and bode them no good. 'Tis human to err and divine to forgive; Let us walk after Christ--bid the poor sinners live, And come back to the fold of the Union once more, And we'll do as the prodigal's father of yore-- Kill the well-fatted calf--(but we'll not do it twice) And invite them to dinner--and give them a slice.

There's old Johnny Bull--what a terrible groan Escapes when he thinks of his big "Rebel Loan"-- How the money went out with a nod and a grin, But the cotton--the cotton--it didn't come in. Then he thinks of diplomacy--Mason-Slidell, And he wishes that both had been warming in hell, For he got such a rap from our little Bill Seward That the red nose he blows is right hard to be cured; And then the steam pirates he built and equipped, And boasted, you know, that they couldn't be whipped; But alas for his boast--Johnny Bull "caught a Tartar," And now like a calf he is bawling for quarter. Yes, bluff Johnny Bull will be tame as a yearling, Beg pardon and humbly "come down" with his sterling.

There's Monsieur _l'Escamoteur_[CU] over in France; He has had a clear field and a gay country dance Down there in Mexico--playing his tricks While we had a family "discussion wid sticks"; But the game is played out; don't you see it's so handy For Grant and his boys to march over the Grande. He twists his waxed moustache and looks very blue, And he says to himself, (what he wouldn't to you) "Py tam--dair's mon poor leetle chappie--Dutch Max! _Cornes du Diable_[CV]--'e'll 'ave to make tracks Or ve'll 'ave all dem tam Yankee poys on our packs."

Monsieur l'Empereur, if your Max can get out With the hair of his head on--he'd better, no doubt. If you'll not take it hard, here's a bit of advice-- It is dangerous for big pigs to dance on the ice; They sometimes slip up and they sometimes fall in, And the ice you are on is exceedingly thin. You're _au fait_, I'll admit, at a sharp game of chance, But the Devil himself couldn't always beat France. Remember the fate of your uncle of yore, Tread lightly, and keep very close to the shore.

The Giant Republic--its future how vast! Now, freed from the follies and sins of the past,

[CU] The Juggler.

[CV] Horns of the Devil!--equivalent to the exclamation--The Devil!

It will tower to the zenith; the ice-covered sea And Darien shall bound-mark the Land of the Free. Behold how the landless, the poor and oppressed, Flock in on our shores from the East and the West! Let them come--bid them come--we have plenty of room; Our forests shall echo, our prairies shall bloom; The iron horse, puffing his cloud-breath of steam, Shall course every valley and leap every stream; New cities shall rise with a magic untold, While our mines yield their treasures of silver and gold, And prosperous, united and happy, we'll climb Up the mountain of Fame till the end of Old Time-- Which, as I figure up, is a century hence: Then we'll all go abroad without any expense; We'll capture a comet--the smart Yankee race Will ride on his tail through the kingdom of Space, Tack their telegraph wires to Uranus and Mars; Yea, carry their arts to the ultimate stars, And flaunt the Old Flag at the suns as they pass, And astonish the Devil himself with--their brass.

And now, "Gentle Readers," I'll bid you farewell; I hope this fine poem will please you--and _sell_. You'll ne'er lack a friend if you ne'er lack a dime; May you never grow old till the end of Old Time; May you never be cursed with an itching for rhyme; For in spite of your physic, in spite of your plaster, The rash will break out till you go to disaster-- Which you plainly can see is the case with my Muse, For she scratches away though she's said her adieus.

Dear Ladies, though last to receive my oblation, And last in the list of Mosaic creation, The last is the best, and the last shall be first. Through Eve, sayeth Moses, old Adam was cursed; But I cannot agree with you, Moses, that Adam Sinned and fell through the gentle persuasion of madam. The victim, no doubt, of Egyptian flirtation, You mistook your chagrin for divine inspiration, And condemned all the sex without proof or probation, As we rhymsters mistake the moonbeams that elate us For flashes of wit or the holy afflatus, And imagine we hear the applause of a nation,-- But all honest men who are married and blest Will agree that the last work of God is the best.

And now to you all--whether married or single-- Whether sheltered by slate, or by "shake," or by shingle-- God bless you with peace and with bountiful cheer, Happy houses, happy hearts--and a happy New Year!

P.S.--If you wish all these blessings, 'tis clear You should send in your "stamps" for the old _Pioneer_.

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