Part 21 (1/2)
Enough for mortal brow to wear The crown thy prowess won:-- Grim warrior, grand in battle!
Rapt christian, meek in prayer!-- Vain age! that fain would reproduce A character as rare!
The world has owned its heroes;-- Its martyrs, great and good, Who rode the storm of power, Or swam the sea of blood:-- Napoleons, Caesars, Cromwells, Melancthons, Luthers brave!
But, who than Jackson ever yet Has filled a prouder grave?
The cause for which he struggled, May fall before the foe: Stout hearts, devoted to their trust, All moulder, cold and low.
The land may prove a charnel-house For millions of the slain, And blood and carnage mark the track Where madmen march amain,-- Fanatic heels may scourge it, Black demons blight the sod; And h.e.l.l's foul desolation Mock Liberty's fair G.o.d.-- The future leave no record, Of mighty struggle there, Save hollowness, and helplessness, And bitter, bald despair.-- Proud cities lose their names e'en; Tall towers fall to earth.-- Mount Vernon fade, and Westmoreland Forget ill.u.s.trious birth;-- And yet, upon tradition, Will float the name of him Whose virtues time may tarnish not, Eternity not dim.
Whose life on earth was only, So grand, so free, so pure, For brighter realms and sunnier skies, A preparation sure.
And whose sweet faith, so child-like, Nor blast, nor surge nor rod, One moment could avert from The bosom of his G.o.d.
Bury the mighty dead!
Long, long to live in story!
Bury the hero dead In his own shroud of glory!
IN MEMORIAM.
FRANK M. CRUIKSHANK, DIED 1862.
Frank is dead! The mournful message Comes gus.h.i.+ng from the ocean's roar.
Frank is dead! His mortal pa.s.sage Has ended on the heavenly sh.o.r.e.
In earthly agony he died To join his Saviour crucified.
Frank is dead! Time's bitter trials Drove him a wanderer from home, To meet life's lot, share its denials, Or gain a rest where cares ne'er come.
His frail form sinking, his grand spirit Careered to realms the blest inherit.
Frank is dead! In life's young morning, When heavenly promise lit his day, His smitten spirit, homeward turning, Forsook its tenement of clay.
No more to battle here with sin; No more to suffer mid earth's din.
Frank is dead! By fever stricken, How long he suffered, and how deep!
With none to feel his hot blood quicken, No loved one near to calm his sleep.
No mother's presence him to gladden: Naught, naught to cheer--all, all to sadden.
Frank is dead! His pangs are over.
His gentle spirit hence has flown.
Strangers, with earth, his body cover, Strangers attend his dying moan.
On stranger forms his eyes last close, To meet A FRIEND in their repose.
Frank is dead! Aye! weep, fond mourner!
The grand, the beautiful is lost.
Too pure for earth, the meek sojourner, On pa.s.sion's billows tempest-tossed, Has found a source of sweeter bliss In realms that sunder wide from this.
Frank is dead! Yes, dead to sorrow, Dead to sadness, dead to pain.
Dead! Dead to all save the tomorrow Whose light eternally shall reign.
He's dead to young ambition's vow And the big thought that stamped his brow.
Frank is dead! Dead to the labors He'd staked his life to triumph in:-- To win his friends, his dying neighbors, And fellows all from death and sin.