 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
TO JOHN PIERPONT
APRIL 6, 1865
Love, honour, reverence are the meed we oweTo him who in the press of younger men,
Toiling with head, heart, hand, with tongue and pen,
Treads his firm pathway through the blinding snow,
Singing in cheery tones that long ago
Our fathers heard: Not less melodious, when
Ten winters lie on three score years and ten,
And still life's unchilled fountains overflow!
Though paler seems the faithful watch tower's light
In the rich dawn that kindles all the day,
Still in our grateful memory lives the ray
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Now while the heavens, in new-born splendours bright
Shine o'er a ransomed people's opening way.
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |