And he, despairing, turns and sighs,
And bows his head,—there fills one tear,
It is the last-he dies.
Now men do rudely lift his hat,
To gaze upon his furrowed face,
And say, “It is the man who sat
Here for so long a foul disgrace.”
Crowds gather round the spot to see,
And then pass idly on, and say,
To those who ask who it can be,
“’T is but a vagrant of the way.”
Thus he who fought and bled to gain
The blessings which are round us strewn,
For one he asked, besought in vain,
Received man’s curse, and died-unknown.
O, my own country! shall it be,
That they who through thy struggle passed,
And bore thy banner manfully,
Shall thus neglected die at last?
O, shall it be no help shall come
From thy overflowing wealth to bless?
Wilt thou be blind, wilt thou be dumb,
To pleas like theirs in wretchedness?
Answer! and let your answer be
A helping hand lowered down to raise
From want and woe those who for thee
Won all thy honor, all thy praise,
And made thee what thou art to-day,
A refuge and a hope for man;
Speak! ere the last one wings away;
Act! act while yet to-day you can.
[For an engraving of cottage girl and lamb.]
O, maiden, standing in
the open field,
On pasture sparkling with the morning dew!
What joy thou findest Nature now to yield
To hearts developed right,—hearts that are true!
Above is beauty, as along the sky
The dawn of light sends forth its herald ray
To arch the heavens, and myriad leagues on high
Proclaim the coming of the god of day.
Beneath is beauty; see the glistening gems
Around thy feet in rich profusion strewn;
Such as ne’er glows in kingly diadems,
Such as man’s handiwork hath never shown.
Around is beauty; on each vale and hill,
In open field and in the shady wood,
A voice is whispering, soft, and low, and still,
“All, all is beautiful, for God is good.”
Thou, too, art beautiful, O, maiden fair,
While Innocence within thine arms doth rest;
And thou wilt e’er be thus, no grief thou ’lt share,
If such a blessing dwell within thy breast
As that whose emblem now lies gently there.