« EelmineJätka »
To trust it loyally as he
Who, heedful of his high design,
Ne'er raised a seeking eye to thine, But wrought thy will unconsciously,
Disputing not of chance or fate,
Nor questioning of cause or creed:
For anything but duty's deed Too simply wise, too humbly great.
The cannon syllabled his name;
His shadow shifted o'er the land,
Portentous, as at his command Successive cities sprang to flame!
He fringed the continent with fire,
The rivers ran in lines of light!
Thy will be done on earth-if right Or wrong he cared not to inquire.
His was the heavy hand, and his
The service of the despot blade;
His the soft answer that allayed War's giant animosities.
Let us have peace: our clouded eyes
Fill, Father, with another light,
That we may see with clearer sight Thy servant's soul in Paradise.
THE BURIAL OF GRANT 1
New York, August 8, 1885
BY RICHARD WATSON GILDER
Ye living soldiers of the mighty war,
Once more from roaring cannon and the drums
And bugles blown at morn, the summons comes; Forget the halting limb, each wound and scar;
Once more your Captain calls to you;
And come ye, too, bright spirits of the dead,
Ye who went heavenward from the embattled field;
And ye whose harder fate it was to yield
Dear ghosts! come join your comrades here
Nor be ye absent, ye immortal band,
Warriors of ages past, and our own age,
Who drew the sword for right, and not in rage,
Nor ever struck one vengeful blow,
And fail not ye—but, ah, ye falter not
To join his army of the dead and living,
Brothers, whom more in love than hate he smote.
For all his countrymen make room
By our great hero's tomb!
But come to weep; ay, shed your noblest tears;
For lo, the stubborn chief, who knew not fears,
How long grim Death he fought and well,
All's over now; here let our Captain rest,
Silent amid the blare of praise and blame;
Here let him rest, alone with his great fame,-
And where our sons his tomb may see,
As brave as he-he on whose iron arm
Our Greatest leaned, our gentlest and most wise,
Leaned when all other help seemed mocking lies, While this one soldier checked the tide of harm,
And they together saved the State,
THE GRAVES OF THE PATRIOTS
BY JAMES GATES PERCIVAL
Here rest the great and good,-here they repose
Comes with its early flowers to deck their graves,
While we are like them, simple, hardy, bold,
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 1
BY WALT WHITMAN
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all ex
ulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and
daring; * By permission of the publisher, David McKay, Philadelphia.