But still, and sad, they sweep
    Amid the foliage deep,
  Even to the threshold of that mansion gray,
    Whither from life’s unrest,
    As an eagle seeks his nest,
  It ever was his wont to flee away.

    And he once more hath come
    To that accustomed home,
  To taste a calm, life never offered yet;
    To know a rest so deep,
    That they who watch and weep,
  In this vain world may well its peace regret.

[Footnote 85:  The home of Henry Clay.]

* * * * *

=_Arthur Cleveland Coxe, 1818-._= (Manual, p. 523.)

=_399._= THE HEART’S SONG.

  In the silent midnight watches,
    List thy bosom door;
  How it knocketh, knocketh, knocketh,
    Knocketh evermore! 
  Say not ’tis thy pulse’s beating;
    ’Tis thy heart of sin;
  ’Tis thy Saviour knocks, and crieth,
    “Rise, and let me in.”

  Death comes down with reckless footstep
    To the hall and hut;
  Think you Death will tarry knocking
    Where the door is shut? 
  Jesus waiteth, waiteth, waiteth;
    But thy door is fast. 
  Grieved, away thy Saviour goeth;
    Death breaks in at last.

  Then ’tis thine to stand entreating
    Christ to let thee in,
  At the gate of heaven beating,
    Wailing for thy sin. 
  Nay, alas! thou foolish virgin,
    Hast thou then forgot? 
  Jesus waited long to know thee,—­
    Now he knows thee not.

* * * * *

=_William Ross Wallace, 1819-._= (Manual, p. 523.)

=_400._= THE NORTH EDDA.

  Noble was the old North Edda,
    Filling many a noble grave,
  That for “man the one thing needful
    In his world is to be brave.”

  This, the Norland’s blue-eyed mother
    Nightly chanted to her child,
  While the Sea-King, grim and stately,
    Looked upon his boy and smiled.

* * * * *

  Let us learn that old North Edda
    Chanted grandly on the grave,
  Still for man the one thing needful
    In his world is to be brave.

  Valkyrs yet are forth and choosing
    Who must be among the slain;
  Let us, like that grim old Sea-King,
    Smile at Death upon the plain,—­

  Smile at tyrants leagued with falsehood,
    Knowing Truth, eternal, stands
  With the book God wrote for Freedom
    Always open in her hands,—­

  Smile at fear when in our duty,
    Smile at Slander’s Jotun-breath,
  Smile upon our shrouds when summoned
    Down the darkling deep of death.

  Valor only grows a manhood;
    Only this upon our sod,
  Keeps us in the golden shadow
    Falling from the throne of God.

* * * * *

=_Walter Whitman, 1819-.[86]_=