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
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,
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,
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.
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,
Feast Of The Presentation Of Mary In The...
The priests stood waiting in the holy place, Impatient of delay (Isaiah had been read), When sudden up the aisle there came a face
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.
First champion of the Crucified! Who, when the fight began Between the Church and worldly pride So nobly fought, so nobly died,
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,
In the valley of my life Sings a 'Singing-Bird', And its voice thro' calm and strife Is sweetly heard.
Be you near, or be you far, Let my blessing, like a star, Shine upon you everywhere! And in each lone evening hour,
The Land We Love
Land of the gentle and brave! Our love is as wide as thy woe; It deepens beside every grave Where the heart of a hero lies low.
The Master's Voice
The waves were weary, and they went to sleep; The winds were hushed; The starlight flushed The furrowed face of all the mighty deep.
The Prayer Of The South
My brow is bent beneath a heavy rod! My face is wan and white with many woes! But I will lift my poor chained hands to God,
Comments about Abram Joseph Ryan
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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,
High o'er the brave in the cause of Right
Its stainless sheen, like a beacon light,
Led us to Victory!
Out of its scabbard, where, full long,
It slumbered peacefully,
Roused from its rest by the battle's song,
Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong,
Guarding the right, avenging the wrong,
Gleamed the sword of Lee!
Forth from its scabbard, high in the air
Beneath Virginia's sky-
And they who saw it gleaming there,
And knew who bore it, ...