New-Years Address--January 1, 1866

[Written for the St. Paul Pioneer.]

Good morning--good morning--a happy new year! We greet you, kind friends of the old Pioneer; Hope your coffee is good and your steak is well done, And you're happy as clams in the sand and the sun. The old year's a shadow--a shade of the past; It is gone with its toils and its triumphs so vast-- With its joys and its tears--with its pleasure and pain-- With its shouts of the brave and its heaps of the slain-- Gone--and it cometh--no, never again. And as we look forth on the future so fair Let us brush from the picture the visage of care; The error, the folly, the frown and the tear-- Drop them all at the grave of the silent old year. Has the heart been oppressed with a burden of woe? Has the spirit been cowed by a merciless blow? Has the tongue of the brave or the voice of the fair Prayed to God and received no response to its prayer? Look up!--'twas a shadow--the morning is here: A Happy New Year!--O, a Happy New Year! Yet stay for a moment. We cannot forget The fields where the true and the traitor have met; When the old year came in we were trembling with fear Lest Freedom should fall in her glorious career; And the roar of the conflict was loud o'er the land Where the traitor-flag waved in a rebel's red hand; But the God of the Just led the hosts of the Free, And Victory marched from the north to the sea. Behold--where the conflict was doubtful and dire-- There--on house-top and hill-top, on fortress and spire-- The Old Banner waves again higher and prouder, Though torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder.

God bless the brave soldiers that followed that flag Through river and swamp, over mountain and crag-- On the wild charge triumphant--the sullen retreat-- On fields spread with victory or piled with defeat; God bless their true hearts for they stood like a wall, And saved us our Country and saved us our all. But many a mother and many a daughter Weep, alas, o'er the brave that went down in the slaughter. Pile the monuments high--not on hill-top and plain-- To the glorious sons 'neath the old banner slain-- But over the land from the sea to the sea-- Pile their monuments high in the hearts of the Free. Heaven bless the brave souls that are spared to return Where the "lamp in the window" ceased never to burn-- Where the vacant chair stood at the desolate hearth Since the son shouldered arms or the father went forth. "Peace!--Peace!"--was the shout;--at the jubilant word Wives and mothers went down on their knees to the Lord!

Methinks I can see, through the vista of years-- From the memories of old such a vision appears-- A gray-haired old veteran in arm-chair at ease, With his grandchildren clustered intent at his knees, Recounting his deeds with an eloquent tongue, And a fire that enkindles the hearts of the young; How he followed the Flag from the first to the last-- On the long, weary march, in the battle's hot blast; How he marched under Sherman from center to sea, Or fought under Grant in his battles with Lee; And the old fire comes back to his eye as of yore, And his iron hand clutches his musket once more, As of old on the battle-field ghastly and red, When he sprang to the charge o'er the dying and dead; And the eyes of his listeners are gleaming with fire, As he points to that Flag floating high on the spire.