 | [Poem by Hayne in] In Memory. The Last Sickness, Death, And Funeral Obsequies, of Alexander H. Stephens, Governor of Georgia |  |
77
Poem
Past midnight now; the chill March morn is nigh,
When they that hearken catch one weary sigh,
And, his long martyrdom, his life-toil done,
He soared beyond the starlight and the sun.
O life sublime! O victory hardly won!
When they that hearken catch one weary sigh,
And, his long martyrdom, his life-toil done,
He soared beyond the starlight and the sun.
O life sublime! O victory hardly won!
Veil, Georgia! veil thy face, and bow thy head—
The noblest heart in all thy realm is dead!
The noblest heart in all thy realm is dead!
Unveil thy face! uplift thy sovereign head—
They dote who say the grand old man is dead.
They dote who say the grand old man is dead.
Beyond the loftiest planet's mystic sphere
He rules in more than royal purple here.
He rules in more than royal purple here.
Dead! while his Influence, borne on all the winds,
Throbs like a pulse of fire in kindling minds!
Throbs like a pulse of fire in kindling minds!
Dead! while the vital sweetness of his fame
Rises serene as perfumed altar flame!
Rises serene as perfumed altar flame!
Dead! while in vain the wave-like years shall roll
To sweep his Image from his Country's soul!
To sweep his Image from his Country's soul!
Dead! while in reverent homesteads, near and far,
His sacred memory brightens like a star,
More clearly beautiful, more purely proud,
In fadeless fresco on death's somber cloud!
His sacred memory brightens like a star,
More clearly beautiful, more purely proud,
In fadeless fresco on death's somber cloud!
Dead! while from stately hall and smouldering camp,
Dives and Lazarus, merchant-prince and tramp,
One voice ascends, of grief, devotion, praise,
And love's rich halo crowns his perfect days!
Dives and Lazarus, merchant-prince and tramp,
One voice ascends, of grief, devotion, praise,
And love's rich halo crowns his perfect days!
While touched to tender glory, death's eclipse
Blooms with auroral tints of childish lips—
Which made (how oft!) his withered cheek to glow,
And flash their rosebuds near his locks of snow!
Blooms with auroral tints of childish lips—
Which made (how oft!) his withered cheek to glow,
And flash their rosebuds near his locks of snow!
Dead! nay—his single life, so true, so tried,
Becomes henceforth divinely multiplied,
To find, while this his out-worn frame departs,
Its resurrection in a million hearts!
Becomes henceforth divinely multiplied,
To find, while this his out-worn frame departs,
Its resurrection in a million hearts!
Of the far hill-slopes and the mountain pine—
Past the blue fountains of those vernal skies,
Misted and dim as some sad angel's eyes—
An echo, tender, silvery, and remote,
The song-thrill melting in a heavenly throat,
Yet quivering still with a rapture so divine
It can but seem we hear the dying note
Of choral welcome, on whose tide updrawn,
His happy Soul hath found the primal dawn,
And the long rest which breathes in Paradise!
| [Poem by Hayne in] In Memory. The Last Sickness, Death, And Funeral Obsequies, of Alexander H. Stephens, Governor of Georgia | |