III.

Then stand up, oh my Countrymen! And unto God give thanks, On mountains, and on hillsides And by sloping river banks —

Thank God that you were worthy Of the grand Confederate ranks: That you who came from uplands And from beside the sea,

Filled with love of Old Virginia And the teachings of the free, May boast in sight of all men That you followed Robert Lee.

Peace has come. God give his blessing On the fact and on the name! The South speaks no invective And she writes no word of blame;

But we call all men to witness That we stand up without shame. Nay! Send it forth to all the world That we stand up here with pride,

With love for our living comrades And with praise for those who died: And in this manly frame of mind Till death we will abide.

GOD and our consciences alone Give us measure of right and wrong; The race may fall unto the swift And the battle to the strong:

But the truth will shine in history And blossom into song. Human grief full oft by glory Is assuaged and disappears

When its requiem swells with music Like the shock of shields and spears, And its passion is too full of pride To leave a space for tears.

And hence to-day, my Countrymen, We come, with undimmed eyes, In homage of the hero Lee, The good, the great, the wise!

And at his name our hearts will leap Till his last old soldier dies. Ask me, if so you please, to paint Storm winds upon the sea;

Tell me to weigh great Cheops — Set volcanic forces free; But bid me not, my Countrymen, To picture Robert Lee!

As Saul, bound for Damascus fair, Was struck blind by sudden light So my eyes are pained and dazzled By a radiance pure and white

Shot back by the burnished armor Of that glory-belted Knight. His was all the Norman's polish And sobriety of grace;

All the Goth's majestic figure; All the Roman's noble face; And he stood the tall exemplar Of a grand historic race.

Baronial were his acres where Potomac's waters run; High his lineage, and his blazon Was by cunning heralds done;

But better still he might have said Of his “works” he was the “son.” Truth walked beside him always, From his childhood's early years,

Honor followed as his shadow, Valor lightened all his cares: And he rode — that grand Virginian — Last of all the Cavaliers!

As a soldier we all knew him Great in action and repose, Saw how his genius kindled And his mighty spirit rose

When the four quarters of the globe Encompassed him with foes. But he and his grew braver As the danger grew more rife,

Avaricious they of glory But most prodigal of life, And the “Army of Virginia” Was the Atlas of the strife.

As his troubles gathered round him, Thick as waves that beat the shore, Atra Cura rode behind him, Famine's shadow filled his door;

Still he wrought deeds no mortal man Had ever wrought before.