Classic Poem

I

From out my deep, wide-bosomed West,
Where unnamed heroes hew the way
For worlds to follow, with stern zest, —
Where gnarled old maples make array,
Deep-scarred from red men gone to rest, —
Where pipes the quail, where squirrels play
Through tossing trees, with nuts for toy,
A boy steps forth, clear-eyed and tall,
A bashful boy, a soulful boy,
Yet comely as the sons of Saul, —
A boy, all friendless, poor, unknown,
Yet heir-apparent to a throne.

II

Lo! Freedom's bleeding sacrifice!
So, like some tall oak tempest-blown,
Beside the storied stream he lies
Now at the last, pale-browed and prone.
A nation kneels with streaming eyes,
A nation supplicates the throne,
A nation holds him by the hand,
A nation sobs aloud at this:
The only dry eyes in the land
Now at the last, I think, are his.
Why, we should pray, God knoweth best,
That this grand, patient soul should rest.

III

The world is round. The wheel has run
Full circle. Now behold a grave
Beneath the old loved trees is done.
The druid oaks lift up, and wave
A solemn welcome back. The brave
Old maples murmur, every one,
" Receive him, Earth! " In centre land,
As in the centre of each heart,
As in the hollow of God's hand,
The coffin sinks. And with it part
All party hates! Now, not in vain
He bore his peril and hard pain.

IV

Therefore, I say, rejoice! I say,
The lesson of his life was much, —
This boy that won, as in a day,
The world's heart utterly; a touch
Of tenderness and tears: the page
Of history grows rich from such;
His name the nation's heritage, —
But oh! as some sweet angel's voice
Spake this brave death that touched us all.
Therefore, I say, Rejoice! Rejoice!
Run high the flags! Put by the pall!
Lo! all is for the best for all!