Classic Poem

His was the sword that from its scabbard leapt
To cleave the way where freedom could be won,
And where it led a conquering army swept
Till all was done.

Then that same valorous hand which swung the sword
Back to its sheath returned the patriot blade,
And bore sweet peace where crushed rebellion's horde
Stood all dismayed.

And now a spirit, speeding from above,
Chills that great heart with his destroying breath,
And all a people's reverence and love
Are mocked by death.