 | The lost pleiad ; and other poems |  |
WASHINGTON.
[“The sepulchre of the Father of his Country was recently opened, in order to place his remains in the marble sarcophagus presented by Mr. Struthers, of Philadelphia. When the lid of the coffin was raised, the hallowed form of Washington was discovered in a wonderful state of preservation. The lofty brow still wore its wonted majesty, and the compressed lips preserved their life-like air of calm decision and command. The attendants were overawed by the aspect of the sleeping hero, and the man whose lot it was to transfer the sacred dust to its new receptacle, was so overpowered by emotion, that it was with difficulty he fulfilled his office.”—
N. Y. Mirror.]
I saw the mighty dead
Lie in his narrow tomb,
And, in that mortal bed,
Wear an immortal bloom.
I saw that great one lie
Low in his grave, as fair
As if he could not die,
And God himself was there!
Lie in his narrow tomb,
And, in that mortal bed,
Wear an immortal bloom.
I saw that great one lie
Low in his grave, as fair
As if he could not die,
And God himself was there!
I saw that holy smile,
In scorn of all but truth,
Hang on his lips the while,
And speak eternal youth.
I saw that lofty brow,
As if with glory fraught,
When times were not as now—
Beam with immortal thought.
In scorn of all but truth,
Hang on his lips the while,
And speak eternal youth.
I saw that lofty brow,
As if with glory fraught,
When times were not as now—
Beam with immortal thought.
It seemed, upon that sod,
While thus we gazed within,
As if the mighty God
Had with the sleeper been!
For there he lay, as whole
As if his body were
Touched by th' immortal soul—
Low in his sepulchre!
While thus we gazed within,
As if the mighty God
Had with the sleeper been!
For there he lay, as whole
As if his body were
Touched by th' immortal soul—
Low in his sepulchre!
Thus lay—while saints looked on—
The immortal Son of Him
Whose light, through Washington,
No sepulchre can dim.
And thus, when stars shall fade,
And when the sun shall die!
Thy form shall be arrayed
In immortality!
The immortal Son of Him
Whose light, through Washington,
No sepulchre can dim.
And thus, when stars shall fade,
And when the sun shall die!
Thy form shall be arrayed
In immortality!
Philadelphia, Jan. 8th, 1837.
| The lost pleiad ; and other poems | |