Abram Joseph Ryan
Abram Joseph Ryan (February 5, 1838 - April 22, 1886), OSFS, was an American poet, an active proponent of the Confederate States of America, and a Roman Catholic priest. He has been called the "Poet-Priest of the South," and less frequently, the "Poet Laureate of the Confederacy."
Ryan was born on February 5, 1838 in Hagerstown, Maryland, to Irish immigrants Matthew ... more »
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Abram Joseph Ryan Poems
Old trees, old trees! in your mystic gloom There's many a warrior laid, And many a nameless and lonely tomb Is sheltered beneath your shade.
A Laugh -- And A Moan
The brook that down the valley So musically drips, Flowed never half so brightly As the light laugh from her lips.
The Sword Of Robert Lee
Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright, Flashed the sword of Lee! Far in the front of the deadly fight,
Better Than Gold
Better than grandeur, better than gold, Than rank and titles a thousand fold, Is a healthy body and a mind at ease,
A Child's Wish
Before an Altar I wish I were the little key That locks Love's Captive in,
The Conquered Banner
Furl that Banner, for 'tis weary; Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary; Furl it, fold it, it is best; For there's not a man to wave it,
Peace! Be Still
Sometimes the Saviour sleeps, and it is dark; For, oh! His eyes are this world's only light, And when they close wild waves rush on His bark,
Out Of The Depths
Lost! Lost! Lost! The cry went up from a sea -- The waves were wild with an awful wrath, Not a light shone down on the lone ship's path;
The summer rose the sun has flushed With crimson glory may be sweet; 'Tis sweeter when its leaves are crushed
They are so sad to say: no poem tells The agony of hearts that dwells In lone and last farewells.
In Memory Of My Brother
Young as the youngest who donned the Gray, True as the truest that wore it, Brave as the bravest he marched away,
First champion of the Crucified! Who, when the fight began Between the Church and worldly pride So nobly fought, so nobly died,
A Land Without Ruins
'A land without ruins is a land without memories -- a land without memories is a land without history.
A Flower's Song
Star! Star, why dost thou shine Each night upon my brow? Why dost thou make me dream the dreams That I am dreaming now?
Comments about Abram Joseph Ryan
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Old trees, old trees! in your mystic gloom
There's many a warrior laid,
And many a nameless and lonely tomb
Is sheltered beneath your shade.
Old trees, old trees! without pomp or prayer
We buried the brave and the true,
We fired a volley and left them there
To rest, old trees, with you.
Old trees, old trees! keep watch and ward
Over each grass-grown bed;
'Tis a glory, old trees, to stand as guard
Over the Southern dead;
Old trees, old trees! we shall pass away
Like the leaves you yearly shed,
But ye, lone sentinels, still must stay,
Old trees, ...