 | Poems by Miss H. F. Gould |  |
207
WASHINGTON.
When the warm sun comes o'er the eastern hills,
And his bright face the world with splendor fills,
Where are the stars that crowned the brow of night?
Drowned in his glory, dwindled out of sight!
So earth's great names will lessen one by one,
Fade and go out, in that of Washington;
Who took through life, his high, untrodden way,
Unmatched, as through the heaven's the orb of day.
And his bright face the world with splendor fills,
Where are the stars that crowned the brow of night?
Drowned in his glory, dwindled out of sight!
So earth's great names will lessen one by one,
Fade and go out, in that of Washington;
Who took through life, his high, untrodden way,
Unmatched, as through the heaven's the orb of day.
Return, ye mighty, ye illustrious dead,
Whose shining deeds on history have shed
Its purest radiance—who from age to age,
Have left your names, as stars, upon the page
Of the world's annals! now return and play
Your parts again, and who shall wear the bay?
The wreath, that blooms without a blighted leaf,
Is on the forehead of our nation's chief!
Whose shining deeds on history have shed
Its purest radiance—who from age to age,
Have left your names, as stars, upon the page
Of the world's annals! now return and play
Your parts again, and who shall wear the bay?
The wreath, that blooms without a blighted leaf,
Is on the forehead of our nation's chief!
Bring out your swords, ye warriors, from the hush
Of their long slumbers! while a thousand blush,
For madly clashing in the needless strife,
With blood that tells of wanton sport with life,
One wisely-tempered, shines without a stain!
Columbia's hero ne'er unsheathed in vain!
By noble means, he noble ends pursued,
Whose first great conquest was himself subdued.
Of their long slumbers! while a thousand blush,
For madly clashing in the needless strife,
With blood that tells of wanton sport with life,
One wisely-tempered, shines without a stain!
Columbia's hero ne'er unsheathed in vain!
By noble means, he noble ends pursued,
Whose first great conquest was himself subdued.
208
Ye Patriots, come! and all your breasts unveil;
Show whose the flame that was the last to fail.
'T is his, who on our country's altar cast
His dearest private interests to the last;
Till self consuming for a people's right,
Rose like a cloud of incense, in the sight
Of earth and heaven, and, from a weary hand,
The baffled foeman dropped his harmless brand!
Show whose the flame that was the last to fail.
'T is his, who on our country's altar cast
His dearest private interests to the last;
Till self consuming for a people's right,
Rose like a cloud of incense, in the sight
Of earth and heaven, and, from a weary hand,
The baffled foeman dropped his harmless brand!
Statesmen and Sages! come and cluster round!
Who aimed so high, reflected so profound,
As our great Counsellor! His mental light
Shone for a people, gave a nation sight.
He, a fair pillar, by a Master hand,
Sublime towers o'er you, rock-based, firm and grand.
Wisdom, and strength, and beauty! these combined
To form the perfect structure of his mind.
Who aimed so high, reflected so profound,
As our great Counsellor! His mental light
Shone for a people, gave a nation sight.
He, a fair pillar, by a Master hand,
Sublime towers o'er you, rock-based, firm and grand.
Wisdom, and strength, and beauty! these combined
To form the perfect structure of his mind.
Philanthropists, from every clime, draw near;
While in your midst we set your high compeer,
Rehearse your lives, and prove, if any can,
Who honored God, by purer love to man,
Than glowed within the bosom that is laid
In holy rest, beneath the cypress-shade,
Where Vernon gives our deathless Friend a tomb,
To slumber with his laurels all in bloom.
While in your midst we set your high compeer,
Rehearse your lives, and prove, if any can,
Who honored God, by purer love to man,
Than glowed within the bosom that is laid
In holy rest, beneath the cypress-shade,
Where Vernon gives our deathless Friend a tomb,
To slumber with his laurels all in bloom.
Souls of the just made perfect! which of you,
More just and perfect, bade the world adieu,
Than our immortal Chieftain? Here he bore
The high commission from his King to pour
The oil of joy upon a struggling land—
To give a nation being by his hand;
Yet, o'er the earth, with garments undefiled,
Walked before heaven, as a little child.
More just and perfect, bade the world adieu,
Than our immortal Chieftain? Here he bore
The high commission from his King to pour
209
To give a nation being by his hand;
Yet, o'er the earth, with garments undefiled,
Walked before heaven, as a little child.
Spirit of Washington! though often told,
The story of thy deeds can ne'er grow old,
Till no young breast remains to be inspired,
And virtue, valor, greatness have expired.
But should the land, whose bondage thou hast broke,
Barter her freedom for another yoke,
Oh! look not down upon her! she will be
Debased, nor worth a father's smile from thee.
The story of thy deeds can ne'er grow old,
Till no young breast remains to be inspired,
And virtue, valor, greatness have expired.
But should the land, whose bondage thou hast broke,
Barter her freedom for another yoke,
Oh! look not down upon her! she will be
Debased, nor worth a father's smile from thee.
| Poems by Miss H. F. Gould | |