 | Poems |  |
79
LINES TO THE MEMORY OF DR. POWELL OF THE A. M. A.
One night, entranced, I sat spellbound,
And listened in my place,
And made a solemn vow to be
A hero for my race.
And listened in my place,
And made a solemn vow to be
A hero for my race.
He plead as but a few can plead
With eloquence and might,
He plead for a humanity,
The Freedmen and the right.
With eloquence and might,
He plead for a humanity,
The Freedmen and the right.
His soul and true nobility
Went out in every word,
And strongly moved for better things
Was every one that heard.
Went out in every word,
And strongly moved for better things
Was every one that heard.
Too soon has death made good his claim
On him who moved us so,
Too great and white the harvest yet,
To spare him here below.
On him who moved us so,
Too great and white the harvest yet,
To spare him here below.
Oh! why this waste?—forgive me, Lord,
I would not Judas be,
Yet who will plead as he has pled,
For Freedmen and for me?
I would not Judas be,
Yet who will plead as he has pled,
For Freedmen and for me?
And yet in death, I think he will—
This sleeping prince of thine,
In many a multitude be heard
Still plead for right and mine.
This sleeping prince of thine,
In many a multitude be heard
Still plead for right and mine.
| Poems | |