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. 
With steady faith he toiled to fit
Christ’s armor on and honor it.

Frank is dead!  Omniscient pleasure
  Has closed his bright career too soon
To realize how rich a treasure
  The ranks had entered ere high noon. 
His brilliant promise, dashed in youth,
One less is left to fight for truth.

Frank is dead!  Yes, dead to mortals. 
  No more we’ll see his noble brow
Or flashing eye; but in the portals
  Above, by faith I see him now
With gladden’d step and fluttering heart,
Marching to share the better part.

Frank is dead!!  No, never, never! 
  Not dead but only gone before. 
Back,—­back!  Thou tear-drop, rising ever;
  Nor Heaven’s fiat now deplore. 
Wail not the sorrows earth can lend
To banish spirits that ascend.

And fare thee well, my noble brother! 
  ’Tis hard to think that thou art not;
To realize that never other
  Footstep like thine shall share my cot,
And think of all thy heart endured,
  By sore besetments often tried. 
But,—­Heaven be thanked,—­all now is cured
  And thou, fair boy, art glorified.

NEW-YEAR ODE.

[1863.]

Let the bier move onward.—­Let no tear be shed. 
The midnight watch is ended:  The grim old year is dead. 
His life was full of turmoil.  In death he ends his woes. 
As fraught with toil his pilgrimage, may peaceful be its close.

Let the bier move onward.—­Let no tear drop fall. 
The couch of birth is waiting the egress of the pall. 
Haste!  Hasten the obsequies:—­the natal hour is nigh. 
Waste not a moment weeping when expectation’s high.

* * * * *

Draw back the veil; the curtain lift. 
  Ho!  Thirsting hearts, rejoice! 
The new-born is no puny gift:—­
  Time’s latest, grandest choice.

Nurseling and giant!  Infant grown! 
  Majestic even now! 
’Tis well that such a restless throne
  Descends to such as thou.

* * * * *

Dame nature’s travail bore thee;
  Her pangs a world upheaved. 
A world now bending o’er thee
  Awaits those pangs relieved. 
A world is waiting for thee: 
  And shall it be deceived?

Ah no!  Such pangs were never
  To mother giv’n in vain. 
Rise, new-born!  Rise and sever
  Tyranny’s clanking chain. 
Rise, Virtue!  Rise forever! 
  The New-Year comes amain! 
O!  Give him welcome ever! 
  Can bleeding hearts refrain?