Classic Poem

Then cross her hands in perfect rest,
And lay the Bible on her breast,
In witness of the good she sought
In token that her task is wrought.

And carve on columns high and white
Her foeman's Fame to prove her right;
And weave at will the victor's wreath,
To veil his crown of fire beneath.

For him, the worm that will not cease,
And the fierce fiends that rend his peace;
For her a glory to outclimb
All glories of recorded time.

Twin-born with Liberty, she died
In her last battle, by her side;
Nor left upon the darkened earth
A living witness of her worth.

And not before the earth or skies,
Shall prouder monument arise
Than hers, whose weak memorial lies
In these sweet lips and shrouded eyes.

In token that her task is wrought —
In witness of the good she sought —
Cross her poor hands in perfect rest,
And lay God's volume on her breast.