 | Poems of home and country |  |
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TRIBUTES.
TO MR. SETH DAVIS, SCHOOL-MASTER.
ON HIS ONE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY.
Hail, honored master! Hail, thrice-honored friend!
Before thy hundred years, we, reverent, bend;
Distinguished praises for thy well-earned fame
Our lips would speak, our grateful thought would frame.
Distinguished man, whose deeds, so bravely done,
Have charmed and blessed, in turn, both sire and son;
Lone pillar, thou, amid the wastes of years,
The sole survivor of their joys and tears;
Whose like our eyes will ne'er behold again,
Grand and alone,—a monument of men.
Before thy hundred years, we, reverent, bend;
Distinguished praises for thy well-earned fame
Our lips would speak, our grateful thought would frame.
Distinguished man, whose deeds, so bravely done,
Have charmed and blessed, in turn, both sire and son;
Lone pillar, thou, amid the wastes of years,
The sole survivor of their joys and tears;
Whose like our eyes will ne'er behold again,
Grand and alone,—a monument of men.
Distinguished, thou, dear man, above thy peers,
Rich in the circle of thy hundred years,
Whose eye, undimmed, has seen the months decay,
While generations thrice have passed away;
Skilful to teach, kind and discreet to guide,
Keen to discern, and honest to decide,
Acute to plan, and earnest to defend;
If e'er a foe in seeming, still a friend,
Training thy pupils to be good and wise.
Goodness lives ever; wisdom never dies.
Thy teaching made them men, both good and great,
Fitted to hold and grace the chair of state;
Great for the platform, pulpit, field, or mart,
But greatest in the goodness of the heart;
As fruits that ripen 'neath the genial sun,
Beauty and richness yield, combined in one.
Rich in the circle of thy hundred years,
Whose eye, undimmed, has seen the months decay,
While generations thrice have passed away;
Skilful to teach, kind and discreet to guide,
Keen to discern, and honest to decide,
Acute to plan, and earnest to defend;
If e'er a foe in seeming, still a friend,
Training thy pupils to be good and wise.
Goodness lives ever; wisdom never dies.
Thy teaching made them men, both good and great,
Fitted to hold and grace the chair of state;
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But greatest in the goodness of the heart;
As fruits that ripen 'neath the genial sun,
Beauty and richness yield, combined in one.
Friend of our early youth and riper age,
The citizen, the patriot, and the sage;
Blessed with an eye to see, a hand to do,
A heart to throb, a soul both large and true;
Man of the present, treasury of the past,—
How has thy life been honored to the last!
Of old traditions, thou, a matchless store,
A walking volume of historic lore;
Lover of Nature in its varied moods,
Its brooks and flowers, its fields and leafy woods,
A thousand trees, set by thy loving care,
Attest thy taste and toil, which placed them there.
The citizen, the patriot, and the sage;
Blessed with an eye to see, a hand to do,
A heart to throb, a soul both large and true;
Man of the present, treasury of the past,—
How has thy life been honored to the last!
Of old traditions, thou, a matchless store,
A walking volume of historic lore;
Lover of Nature in its varied moods,
Its brooks and flowers, its fields and leafy woods,
A thousand trees, set by thy loving care,
Attest thy taste and toil, which placed them there.
So on the hill, where forests used to stand,
One tall old tree—the monarch of the band—
Towers upward, all alone, in lofty pride,
While generations, nourished at its side
In gentle summer and in winter drear,
Have grown and fallen with every passing year,—
Each season crowns it with luxuriant leaves,
Each autumn round it some fresh glory weaves,
And twittering birds and sunbeams o'er it play,
While the old monarch suffers no decay.
One tall old tree—the monarch of the band—
Towers upward, all alone, in lofty pride,
While generations, nourished at its side
In gentle summer and in winter drear,
Have grown and fallen with every passing year,—
Each season crowns it with luxuriant leaves,
Each autumn round it some fresh glory weaves,
And twittering birds and sunbeams o'er it play,
While the old monarch suffers no decay.
May thy late years decline, O honored friend,
As setting suns their glowing colors blend,
Peacefully fading towards the darkening west,
Sinking serenely to their destined rest,
Prophetic of a new and brighter day,
When years and centuries shall have passed away!
As setting suns their glowing colors blend,
Peacefully fading towards the darkening west,
Sinking serenely to their destined rest,
Prophetic of a new and brighter day,
When years and centuries shall have passed away!
September 3, 1887.
103
THE DEPARTED TEACHER.
Gone, but not lost! the star of day,
Merged in the morning radiance, dies,
But holds, unseen, its onward way,
And walks in glory through the skies.
Merged in the morning radiance, dies,
But holds, unseen, its onward way,
And walks in glory through the skies.
The brilliant orbs that guard the night,
Like priests around their altar-fires,
Quenched, but not lost, a living light,
Are watching still, though night retires.
Like priests around their altar-fires,
Quenched, but not lost, a living light,
Are watching still, though night retires.
Gone, but not lost! the glowing sun
Sinks, weary, 'neath the darkening west,
But tho' his daily race is run,
New worlds are by his presence blest.
Sinks, weary, 'neath the darkening west,
But tho' his daily race is run,
New worlds are by his presence blest.
Gone, but not lost! the summer's bloom
Lies sleeping 'neath the wintry snow;
But richer fruits spring from the tomb,
From dark decay fair harvest grow.
Lies sleeping 'neath the wintry snow;
But richer fruits spring from the tomb,
From dark decay fair harvest grow.
Gone, but not lost! who lives sublime
Lives beyond life, he cannot die;
Born for all years, for every clime,
His a true immortality.
Lives beyond life, he cannot die;
Born for all years, for every clime,
His a true immortality.
We weep as, one by one, we lay
Our brethren with the garnered host,
While gratefully the ages say,
No saintly life is ever lost.
Our brethren with the garnered host,
While gratefully the ages say,
No saintly life is ever lost.
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Farewell, the reverend teacher sleeps,
Taken, alas! yet doubly given;
His life undimmed, its pathway keeps—
One course alike in earth and heaven.
Taken, alas! yet doubly given;
His life undimmed, its pathway keeps—
One course alike in earth and heaven.
January, 1875.
REQUIEM.
Another,—yes, another,—
We are passing, one by one,
Like soldiers, fallen in battle,
Be the conflict lost or won.
Another,—yes, another,
Like an evening star, has set;
Behind the western mountains
The light is lingering yet.
We are passing, one by one,
Like soldiers, fallen in battle,
Be the conflict lost or won.
Another,—yes, another,
Like an evening star, has set;
Behind the western mountains
The light is lingering yet.
Another,—yes, another,—
The friends of earlier days,
As melt the mists of morning
Amid the noonday haze,
Life's golden harvests, gathered,
Pass on to other spheres;
Life's early promise kindled
Light round their riper years.
The friends of earlier days,
As melt the mists of morning
Amid the noonday haze,
Life's golden harvests, gathered,
Pass on to other spheres;
Life's early promise kindled
Light round their riper years.
Another,—yes, another,—
As ever on the lake
Wave follows wave, and shoreward
Successive billows break;
Grand in the storm, but fairest
When, all the conflict o'er,
In gentle ripples moving,
They lave the silent shore.
As ever on the lake
Wave follows wave, and shoreward
Successive billows break;
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When, all the conflict o'er,
In gentle ripples moving,
They lave the silent shore.
Another,—yes, another,
Torn from the golden chain,
Crowned, after life's stern conflict,
Another warrior slain;
With closer ranks, his valor
Shall help us dare and do;
Shorter the chain, but stronger,—
We'll weld the parts anew.
Torn from the golden chain,
Crowned, after life's stern conflict,
Another warrior slain;
With closer ranks, his valor
Shall help us dare and do;
Shorter the chain, but stronger,—
We'll weld the parts anew.
Another,—yes, another,—
We drop like forest leaves,
When the year's crown of glory
The mellow autumn weaves;
But lives of love and duty
Sink to no vain repose;
Sunsets shed lingering radiance,
Fragrance, the dying rose.
We drop like forest leaves,
When the year's crown of glory
The mellow autumn weaves;
But lives of love and duty
Sink to no vain repose;
Sunsets shed lingering radiance,
Fragrance, the dying rose.
Another,—yes, another,—
The calls more frequent grow,
As whitens round our temples
More thick the silver snow;
God of the weak and weary,
Light of our joyful past,
Guide us, support and keep us,
Till falls in death the last!
The calls more frequent grow,
As whitens round our temples
More thick the silver snow;
God of the weak and weary,
Light of our joyful past,
Guide us, support and keep us,
Till falls in death the last!
106
N. P. WILLIS.
Come back to be buried beneath the green willow,
Whose long weeping branches trail over the tomb;
The soil of thy birthplace prepares thee a pillow,—
Where kindled thy morn, for thy eve there is room.
Whose long weeping branches trail over the tomb;
The soil of thy birthplace prepares thee a pillow,—
Where kindled thy morn, for thy eve there is room.
Come back to be buried, where patriarchs holy
In faith breathed thy name at the altar of prayer;
Come back, from thy greatness, to sleep with the lowly,
Where pride sounds no trumpet, and fame is but air.
In faith breathed thy name at the altar of prayer;
Come back, from thy greatness, to sleep with the lowly,
Where pride sounds no trumpet, and fame is but air.
Come back to be buried, where honor first found thee,
And o'er thee her mantle deliciously flung;
Come back with thy robe of renown wrapped around thee,
To rest where thy garlands in youth o'er thee hung.
And o'er thee her mantle deliciously flung;
Come back with thy robe of renown wrapped around thee,
To rest where thy garlands in youth o'er thee hung.
Come back to be buried, as blossomings vernal
Fall back to the soil whence their beauty was born;
As sunset clouds glitter in glory supernal,
Returned from the earth which they moistened at morn.
Fall back to the soil whence their beauty was born;
As sunset clouds glitter in glory supernal,
Returned from the earth which they moistened at morn.
Come back to be buried,—but still shall the crescent
Of fame, early won, the record illume;
As chaplets of love, made sempervirescent,
Are saved from the night and the damps of the tomb.
Of fame, early won, the record illume;
As chaplets of love, made sempervirescent,
Are saved from the night and the damps of the tomb.
107
Come back to be buried,—mowed down by the Reaper,
Whose pitiless scythe spares nor manhood nor bloom;
Come back to be buried, O lone, silent sleeper,
Thy kindred await thee,—come, pilgrim, come home.
Whose pitiless scythe spares nor manhood nor bloom;
Come back to be buried, O lone, silent sleeper,
Thy kindred await thee,—come, pilgrim, come home.
Mr. Willis was born in Portland, passed his early days in Boston, died at Idlewild, N. Y., Jan. 20, 1867, and came back to be buried in Mt. Auburn, Jan. 24.
EDWARD EVERETT.
Mute is his eloquence: that silver tongue
On whose sweet accents crowds, admiring, hung,—
Whose fitting words in heavenly beauty fell
On ear and heart, that owned the witching spell;
Whose graceful cadence tides of feeling woke,
As if on earth some loving angel spoke,—
Now rests in silence, like a harp unstrung.
Its notes, unrivalled, on the breezes flung,
Still breathe in living echoes in the air,
As though the master-spirit lingered there.
Who can do justice to so great a name?
Who speak in worthy words his matchless fame?
In varied learning brilliant and profound;
In taste a model, and in judgment sound;
Above ambition's mean and shuffling arts;
Too great to purchase power at public marts;
In life so pure, in motive so unstained,—
He trod with honor all the heights he gained;
His aims so worthy, and his powers so rare,
If first he stood, the people placed him there.
As stands a shaft on some far-reaching plain,
Rising o'er cottage-roofs and waving grain,
Catching the earliest morning's crimson streams,
And latest splendor of the evening beams,
Towering o'er all, it meets the distant sight,
And bathes its summit in the peerless light,—
So, in his country, in his age, alone,
As in the earlier times great Washington;
When foemen trod the stage with haughty stride,
He for his country spoke with manly pride,
Consoled the timid, made the fainting strong,
Stood for the right, and frowned upon the wrong.
As some brave soldier waves his flag on high,
And points his comrades on, to do or die,
Then plants the banner on the topmost height,
Borne through the fiercest whirlwind of the fight,
Himself forgetting, eager but to see
His nation's struggle crowned by victory,—
So toiled in love, so stood, till evening set,
The ripe, the brave, immortal Everett.
On whose sweet accents crowds, admiring, hung,—
Whose fitting words in heavenly beauty fell
On ear and heart, that owned the witching spell;
Whose graceful cadence tides of feeling woke,
As if on earth some loving angel spoke,—
Now rests in silence, like a harp unstrung.
Its notes, unrivalled, on the breezes flung,
Still breathe in living echoes in the air,
As though the master-spirit lingered there.
Who can do justice to so great a name?
Who speak in worthy words his matchless fame?
In varied learning brilliant and profound;
In taste a model, and in judgment sound;
Above ambition's mean and shuffling arts;
Too great to purchase power at public marts;
In life so pure, in motive so unstained,—
He trod with honor all the heights he gained;
His aims so worthy, and his powers so rare,
If first he stood, the people placed him there.
As stands a shaft on some far-reaching plain,
Rising o'er cottage-roofs and waving grain,
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And latest splendor of the evening beams,
Towering o'er all, it meets the distant sight,
And bathes its summit in the peerless light,—
So, in his country, in his age, alone,
As in the earlier times great Washington;
When foemen trod the stage with haughty stride,
He for his country spoke with manly pride,
Consoled the timid, made the fainting strong,
Stood for the right, and frowned upon the wrong.
As some brave soldier waves his flag on high,
And points his comrades on, to do or die,
Then plants the banner on the topmost height,
Borne through the fiercest whirlwind of the fight,
Himself forgetting, eager but to see
His nation's struggle crowned by victory,—
So toiled in love, so stood, till evening set,
The ripe, the brave, immortal Everett.
Well at his funeral-pomp did wreaths of green
Adorn the places where his life had been,
And garlands deck, with sweet and cheerful bloom,
The opening gateway to his honored tomb.
The full-blown flowers, of pure and spotless white,
Symbols of finished life, a life upright;
The bursting buds, of fresh and bright renown,
Wreathed o'er his name, like an immortal crown,—
Each fragrant blossom round the good and brave,
Telling how virtue lives beyond the grave.
The martial dirge, with deep and solemn strain,
Fell on the ear as falls the gentle rain,
Breathing o'er troubled hearts a healing balm;
While mingling organ-notes prolonged the psalm,
As if the twofold music had been given,
Symbol of closing earth and opening heaven.
Thus when the good man parts from earth and time.
Soaring from toil and pain to joys sublime,
The flickering light of such a world as this
Melts in the splendor of ecstatic bliss;
The mortal, like the setting sunlight, fades,
While glorious visions rise that know no shades;
And earthly music, as the soul ascends,
Dies on the ear, and with the angelic concert blends.
Adorn the places where his life had been,
And garlands deck, with sweet and cheerful bloom,
The opening gateway to his honored tomb.
The full-blown flowers, of pure and spotless white,
Symbols of finished life, a life upright;
The bursting buds, of fresh and bright renown,
Wreathed o'er his name, like an immortal crown,—
Each fragrant blossom round the good and brave,
Telling how virtue lives beyond the grave.
The martial dirge, with deep and solemn strain,
Fell on the ear as falls the gentle rain,
Breathing o'er troubled hearts a healing balm;
While mingling organ-notes prolonged the psalm,
As if the twofold music had been given,
Symbol of closing earth and opening heaven.
Thus when the good man parts from earth and time.
Soaring from toil and pain to joys sublime,
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Melts in the splendor of ecstatic bliss;
The mortal, like the setting sunlight, fades,
While glorious visions rise that know no shades;
And earthly music, as the soul ascends,
Dies on the ear, and with the angelic concert blends.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
IN MEMORIAM.
Dear master of the tuneful lyre,
How shall we breathe the word, “Farewell”?
How shall we touch the trembling wire,
Which vibrates with thy mystic spell?
How shall we breathe the word, “Farewell”?
How shall we touch the trembling wire,
Which vibrates with thy mystic spell?
The world seems poor, of thee bereft;
The evening sky without the sun;
The setting, not the gem, is left;
The frame remains, the picture gone.
The evening sky without the sun;
The setting, not the gem, is left;
The frame remains, the picture gone.
As birds that float on heavenward wing,
Unseen, the air with music fill,—
Singing, they soar, and, soaring, sing,—
Thy broken harp yields music still.
Unseen, the air with music fill,—
Singing, they soar, and, soaring, sing,—
Thy broken harp yields music still.
Life's golden bowl was dashed too soon,
But love still holds thy cherished name;
No sunset thine, but fadeless noon;
No shadow, but immortal fame.
But love still holds thy cherished name;
No sunset thine, but fadeless noon;
No shadow, but immortal fame.
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So the dear chrysalis we hide,
For God's safe-keeping, in the tomb;
And, in firm faith and hope, we bide
The dawn that breaks the silent gloom.
For God's safe-keeping, in the tomb;
And, in firm faith and hope, we bide
The dawn that breaks the silent gloom.
Wait the fair day, the glorious hour,
The precious form, enshrined in clay,
Instinct with new-created power,
Shall wake, and heaven-ward soar away.
The precious form, enshrined in clay,
Instinct with new-created power,
Shall wake, and heaven-ward soar away.
Newton Centre, October 18, 1894.
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