Stone Mountain
Forged in the furnace of the world's mid-fire;
Smit of all scourges of the fierce and dire;
Worn of all waters; the volcano's core
Enters the Heavens at last, triumphant evermore!
Kindred to all, that, clasped by sod or shroud,
Kindles the crystal that shall cleave the cloud.
Crowned with the stars! a cenotaph to stand
Till the last flood of fire shall oversweep the land.
How vile to this, the tyrant-triumph, hid
In the worn Sphinx, the wasted Pyramid!
How poor and pale all pomps the world has known
To this unblazoned shaft of Georgia stone!
Whose name and fame shall front the ages with
Thine awful grace, imperial monolith?
With fire as central as the crater's own,
And soul as steadfast as the granite stone?
His, of the thunderous deluge, worn and tried!
Him, of the furnace-dungeon, purified!—
The crest of Memnon o'er the orient seas,
Hymettus-voiced with silvery symphonies.
Our Athos-Alexander, carven on
The unbowed head of mourning Macedon;
Tender as starlight, with the pleiad gaze
O'er the lost Eden of the lovely days.
Whose mighty “Work” salutes the sun at last,
The Rock Cathedral of the fiery Past,
Shrining the princely dust with sacramental care,
And kindling darkened aisles with censer, song and prayer.
Touching old banners with their battle-glow,
And the worn bugles till their triumphs blow!
Lending sweet music to the tears that shed
The tenderest splendor o'er our Freedom's dead!
And clarion clangors to the starward arch,
Where her gray cohorts rally to the march;
Blending all glories of the arch of light,
To robe, and crown, and consecrate the “Right!”
A kingly vigil, where enchantment lies
On the pale lips of peerless chivalries!
A godlike deed, to bid these charnel gates
Blaze with the resurrection of the States!
May we not mate the mountain and the man,—
The granite dome and the great Georgian?
Kindred to all, that swathed by sod or shroud,
Kindles the crystal that shall cleave the cloud.
Their pathos One!—the melancholy grace
Of Sinai's shadow on the Prophet's face,
When the lone summit of the thunders saw
The broken People in the broken Law.
And the last splendor of the lightning fell
On shattered tablets and lost Israel!
One in their grandeur! Who shall bid apart
These stalwart coils that clasp our Georgia's heart?
Or crown this majesty that meets the Heavens
With other immortality than—“Stephens!”
Than His, whose voice in Freedom's name hath given
From all this earth the noblest plea to Heaven!
Smit of all scourges of the fierce and dire;
Worn of all waters; the volcano's core
Enters the Heavens at last, triumphant evermore!
Kindred to all, that, clasped by sod or shroud,
Kindles the crystal that shall cleave the cloud.
Crowned with the stars! a cenotaph to stand
Till the last flood of fire shall oversweep the land.
How vile to this, the tyrant-triumph, hid
In the worn Sphinx, the wasted Pyramid!
How poor and pale all pomps the world has known
To this unblazoned shaft of Georgia stone!
Whose name and fame shall front the ages with
Thine awful grace, imperial monolith?
With fire as central as the crater's own,
And soul as steadfast as the granite stone?
His, of the thunderous deluge, worn and tried!
Him, of the furnace-dungeon, purified!—
The crest of Memnon o'er the orient seas,
Hymettus-voiced with silvery symphonies.
Our Athos-Alexander, carven on
The unbowed head of mourning Macedon;
Tender as starlight, with the pleiad gaze
O'er the lost Eden of the lovely days.
Whose mighty “Work” salutes the sun at last,
The Rock Cathedral of the fiery Past,
Shrining the princely dust with sacramental care,
And kindling darkened aisles with censer, song and prayer.
Touching old banners with their battle-glow,
And the worn bugles till their triumphs blow!
Lending sweet music to the tears that shed
The tenderest splendor o'er our Freedom's dead!
And clarion clangors to the starward arch,
Where her gray cohorts rally to the march;
Blending all glories of the arch of light,
To robe, and crown, and consecrate the “Right!”
A kingly vigil, where enchantment lies
On the pale lips of peerless chivalries!
A godlike deed, to bid these charnel gates
Blaze with the resurrection of the States!
May we not mate the mountain and the man,—
The granite dome and the great Georgian?
Kindred to all, that swathed by sod or shroud,
Kindles the crystal that shall cleave the cloud.
Their pathos One!—the melancholy grace
Of Sinai's shadow on the Prophet's face,
When the lone summit of the thunders saw
The broken People in the broken Law.
And the last splendor of the lightning fell
On shattered tablets and lost Israel!
One in their grandeur! Who shall bid apart
These stalwart coils that clasp our Georgia's heart?
Or crown this majesty that meets the Heavens
With other immortality than—“Stephens!”
Than His, whose voice in Freedom's name hath given
From all this earth the noblest plea to Heaven!
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