Father Ryans Poetry Pt. 2

Requiem Chant for the Federal Dead by Father Ryan

Fr. Abram J. Ryan in later life

The restless find rest, in the lonesome, still grave,
And the bravest and best, and the truest and brave,
Whose work hath been done, work heavy and hard
They, each, every one, win highest reward
This grave is their throne, and when they lie down
In the grave, still and lone, they wear the crown
None other may wear, and the living have care
Of the still, lonesome grave, of the true and the brave
The brave are the true, and the true are the brave.
Wearers of Blue, who rest in the grave.
I of the Gray, today chant your dirge,
In the battle’s red surge, your bright lives were wrecked
Never a wave that hath not been flecked
By the whitest of foam a-crowning its crest
You fought for your home, your name and your rest
Ah, God knoweth best, the ways of this world.
The banner is furled, that waved o’er the Gray,
The banner still waves that flashed o’er the Blue
And this sacred day, you bring to still graves,
The sweet flowers of May, to crown the dead braves.
Who saved from the Gray, the Union for you.
Yours the bright Blue, that colors the skies                        
Stars in it for you, whose light never dies.
Mine the dark Gray and sad as a cloud,
Skies and stars stay, clouds float away.
Ah! Dear Southern Dead, the Ghosts of the Gray
Whose brave blood was shed, ye are with me today.
And I am your voice. I hear what you say.
Priest of our God, the men of the Blue and the men of the Gray
Lie dead ‘neath the sod, chant the praise of the men
Who met us in fight, on stream, crag and glen,
Each heart for its right, sing the true and the brave,
Who met in the fray, cry out from the grave.
Both the Blue and the Gray, each grave is so calm
Our still voices blend, in a beautiful psalm.
Let all hatreds end, from the bright Golden Shore
We cry to the world, be brothers once more.
One banner is furled, the other still waves,
O'er us and the Brave, and from far away,
We, the Blue and the Gray, ah! together we pray,
Let never hand sever, one bright star from star,
We see it from afar, and its star-folds shall float forever and ever.

As promised, this is yet another poem written by Fr. Abram Ryan, Poet-priest of the South. As this poem was written long after the end of the American Civil War, you may notice a reduction of sectional patriotic fervor. It was not meant to ease the grief of losing the war, nor was it intended to arouse old patriotism and memories in the breast of the old Confederate. You may detect just a hint of sorrow for the “Lost Cause” but the central theme of this poem is that of reconciliation. It was read Memorial Day, 1884, at the decoration of soldiers graves at Reinzi Cemetery in Fon Du Lac, Wisconsin, yet it was never published in any of the later editions of Father Ryans poetry. [1]

The final stanza, with the dead of both sides speaking:

We, the Blue and the Gray, Ah! Together we pray,
Let never hand sever, one bright star from star.
We see it from afar, and its star-folds shall float forever and ever.

Did I say there was reduced patriotism? I take it back. Patriots, Blue and Gray, for one nation and one flag now.

The Picket

Source

The Father Abram J. Ryan Archive at Belmont Abbey College, Belmont, North Carolina, retrieved from http://crusader.bac.edu/library/rarebooks/Ryanfiles/

A Mother's Prayer

A Mothers Prayer [1]

“Faith”

Father, in the battle fray,

Shelter his dear head, I pray!
Nerve his young arm with the might
Of Justice, Liberty, and Right.
Where the red hail deadliest falls,
Where stern duty loudly calls,
Where the strife is fierce and wild--
Father! Guard, oh guard my child!

Where the foe rush swift and strong,
Madly striking for the wrong;
Where the clash of angry steel
Rings above the battle-field;
Where the stifling air is hot,
With bursting shell and whistling shot;
Father, to my boy's brave breast
Let no treacherous blade be pressed!

Father! If my woman's heart--
Frail and weak in every part--
Wanders from Thy mercy seat,
After those dear roving feet,
Let Thy tender pitying grace
Every selfish thought erase!
If this mother love be wrong,
Pardon, bless, and make me strong.

For when silent shades of night

Shut the bright world from my sight,
When, around the cheerful fire,

Gather brothers, sisters, sire:                                     


Father Ryan during the war.

Then I miss my boy's bright face                                         

From the old familiar place,
And my sad heart wanders back
To tented field and bivouac.

Often in my troubled sleep

Waking- wearily to weep--
Often dreaming he is near,
Calming every anxious fear--
Often startled by the flash
Of hostile swords that meet and clash,
Till the cannons smoke and roar
Hide him from my sight no more.

Thus I dream, and hope, and pray,
All the weary hours away;
But I know his cause is just,
And I center all my trust
In Thy promise-- “As Thy day, so
shall thy strength be”--alway!
Yet I need Thy guidance still;
Father, let me do Thy will.

If new sorrow should befall,

If my noble boy should fall,

If the bright head I have blessed

On the cold earth find its rest;

Still, with all the mother heart,

Torn and quivering with the smart,

I yield him 'neath Thy chastening rod,

To his country and his God!

This beautiful piece of poetry was written by Father Abram Joseph Ryan sometime during the American Civil War. Ryan has been proclaimed as “The Poet Priest of the South” or “The Poet Priest of the Confederacy” dating back to the war itself. He was born on February 5, 1838 and died April 22, 1886. Beyond that I can not at this time give much more information. Manuscripts that I have found, ranging from the late 19^th century through to more recent works including Catholic journals and encyclopedias contain so much conflicting information about him that it is difficult establish accurate facts. As an example, some manuscripts give his birth date as August 15, 1839. Some list his place of birth as Norfolk, Virginia while others say Hagerstown Maryland. You can see what I am up against here. I am going to keep digging since I am working on posts pertaining to Civil War chaplains and he after all was a priest, but again conflicting sources say he never actually joined the Confederate army and others say he did. The only agreement is that he served the Southern soldier as best he could.

Be that as it may, Father Ryan's poetry stands alone in its power, patriotism, and depth of feeling that is unparalleled by any poet of the day, North or South. In fact, many of them could find a place in a Yankee home as easily as one found in Dixie. Mothers all across the land may have found solace in this piece.

Although Ryan may be best noted for post war laments for the Lost Cause, not all of his work exudes the despondency of “The Conquered Banner” or “The Sword of Robert Lee”, and I will show one of his post war poems that bears no resemblance to those two poems in an up coming post.

Source:

1-War Lyrics and Songs of the South, Ryan, Abram Joseph, 1866, page 42

Image from Belmont Abbey College Collection, Belmont, North Carolina

The Picket