Life in Dixie during the War, 1861-1862-1863-1864-1865. Gay Mary Ann Harris
God loveth a cheerful giver.”
“Before Jehovah’s awful throne
Ye nations bow with sacred joy;
Know that the Lord is God alone;
He can create and He destroy.”
P. S. – “Above, below, in ocean, earth and skies,
Nothing’s so pretty as your blue eyes.” – M.
“I am come a light into the world, that whosoever believeth on Me should not abide in darkness.”
“And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.”
P. S. – “Remember me! Remember me!
When this you see – Remember me!” – M.
“The Lord shall command the blessing upon thee in the storehouses, and in all that thou settest thine hand unto.”
“Lives of great men all remind us,
We can make our lives sublime,
And departing, leave behind us,
Footprints on the sands of Time.”
P. S. – “Remember well and bear in mind,
A pretty girl’s not hard to find;
But when you find one nice and Gay
Hold on to her both night and day.” – M.
“He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy.”
“I’d give my life to know thy art,
Sweet, simple, and divine;
I’d give this world to melt one heart,
As thou hast melted mine.” – Mary.
P. S. – “As the earth trots round the sun,
My love for you will ever run.” – M.
CHAPTER V.
THE THIRD MARYLAND ARTILLERY
At some time in 1863, it was my privilege to meet a gallant band of men whose faith in the justice of our cause was so strong that they were constrained to turn their faces Southward and imperil their lives in its defence. These men represented the highest type of manhood in Maryland.
Sickness entered their camp, and the good ladies of Decatur insisted upon providing the comforts of home for the sick and wounded. Those to whom it was my privilege to minister belonged to the Third Maryland Artillery, under command of Captain John B. Rowan.2
Among them was one whose appreciation of kindness shown him ripened into an undying friendship, Captain W. L. Ritter, a devoted Christian gentleman, and now an elder in Doctor LeFevre’s Church, Baltimore.
His fondness for that beautiful Southern song, by James R. Randall, entitled “Maryland, My Maryland!” was truly pathetic.
I subjoin the words to stir up the souls of our people by way of remembrance.
The despot’s heel is on thy shore,
Maryland, My Maryland!
His touch is on thy temple door,
Maryland, My Maryland.
Avenge the patriotic gore,
That flowed the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle-queen of yore,
Maryland, My Maryland.
Hark to a wand’ring son’s appeal,
Maryland, My Maryland!
My mother state, to thee I kneel,
Maryland, My Maryland!
For life and death, for woe and weal,
Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
Maryland, My Maryland.
Thou wilt not cower in the dust,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Thy beaming sword shall never rust,
Maryland, My Maryland.
Remember Carroll’s sacred trust,
Remember Howard’s warlike thrust,
And all thy slumberers with the just,
Maryland, My Maryland.
Come, ’tis the red dawn of the day,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Come with thy panoplied array,
Maryland, My Maryland.
With Ringold’s spirit for the fray,
With Watson’s blood at Monterey,
With fearless Lowe and dashing May;
Maryland, My Maryland.
Dear Mother! burst thy tyrant’s chain,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Virginia should not call in vain,
Maryland, My Maryland.
She meets her sisters on the plain,
“Sic Semper,” ’tis the proud refrain
That baffles minions back again,
Maryland, My Maryland.
Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
Maryland, My Maryland.
Come to thy own heroic throng,
That stalks with liberty along,
And give a new Key to thy song,
Maryland, My Maryland.
I see the blush upon thy cheek,
Maryland, My Maryland!
But thou wast ever bravely meek,
Maryland, My Maryland.
But, lo! there surges forth a shriek,
From hill to hill, from creek to creek,
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,
Maryland, My Maryland.
Thou wilt not yield the vandal toll,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Thou wilt not crook to his control,
Maryland, My Maryland.
Better the fire upon thee roll,
Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,
Than crucifixion of the soul,
Maryland, My Maryland.
I hear the distant thunder hum,
Maryland, My Maryland!
The Old Line bugle, fife and drum,
Maryland, My Maryland.
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb —
Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum;
She breathes! She burns! She’ll come, she’ll come!
Maryland, My Maryland.
An additional verse as sung by Mrs. Jessie Clark, of Crisp’s Co., Friday night, Sept. 12th, 1862.
Hark! tis the cannon’s
This brave officer was killed near Nashville, Tennessee, Dec. 16th, 1864.