Classic Poem

1.

The Land stood still to listen all that day,
And 'mid the hush of many a wrangling tongue,
Forth from the cannon's mouth the signal rung,
That from the earth a man had pass'd away —
A mighty Man, that over many a field
Roll'd back the tide of Battle on the foe, —
Thus far, no further, shall thy billows go.
Who Freedom's falchion did right nobly wield,
Like potter's vessel smiting Tyrants down,
And from Earth's strongest snatching Victory's crown;
Upon the anvil of each Battle-plain,
Still beating swords to ploughshares. All is past, —
The glory, and the labour, and the pain —
The Conqueror is conquer'd here at last.

2.

Yet other men have wrought, and fought, and won,
Cutting with crimson sword Fame's Gordian knot,
And, dying, nations wonder'd — and forgot, —
But this Man's name shall circle with the sun;
And when our children's children feel the glow,
That ripens them unconsciously to men,
Asking, with upturn'd face, " What did he then? "
One answer from each quicken'd heart shall flow —
" This Man submerg'd the Doer in the Deed,
Toil'd on for Duty, nor of Fame took heed;
Hew'd out his name upon the great world's sides.
In sure-aim'd strokes of nobleness and worth,
And never more Time's devastating tides
Shall wear the steadfast record from the Earth. "

3.

This Duty, known and done, which all men praise,
Is it a thing for heroes utterly?
Or claims it aught, O Man! from thee and me,
Amid the sweat and grime of working days?
Stand forth, thou Conqueror, before God's throne,
Thou ruler, thou Earth-leader, great and strong,
Behold thy work, thy doing, labour'd long,
Before that mighty Presence little grown.
Stand forth, thou Man, low toiling 'mid the lees,
That measurest Duty out in poor degrees;
Are not all deeds, beside the deeds of Heaven,
But as the sands upon the ocean shore,
Which, softly breath'd on by God's winds, are driven
Into dim deserts, thenceforth seen no more!

4.

Then make thou Life heroic, O! thou Man,
Though not in Earth's eyes, still in Heaven's, which see
Each task accomplish'd not in poor degree,
But as fain workings out of Duty's plan, —
The hewers and the drawers of the land,
No whit behind the mighty and the great,
Bearing unmoved the burden of the State, —
Alike each duty challenged at man's hand.
Life is built up of smallest atomics,
Pile upon pile the ramparts still increase,
And as those, Roman walls, o'er which in scorn
The scoffer leapt, soon held the world at bay,
So shall thy deeds of duty, lowly born,
Be thy strong tower and glory ere the set of day.

THE PASSAGE-BIRDS.

Far, far away, over land and sea,
When Winter comes with his cold, cold breath,
And chills the flowers to the sleep of death,
Far, far away over land and sea,
Like a band of spirits the Passage-birds flee.

Round the old grey spire in the evening calm,
No more they circle in sportive glee,
Hearing the hum of the vesper psalm,
And the swell of the organ so far below;
But far, far away, over land and sea,
In the still mid-air the swift Passage-birds go.

Over the earth that is scarcely seen
Through the curtain of vapour that waves between,
O'er city and hamlet, o'er hill and plain,
O'er forest green, and o'er mountain hoar,
They flit like shadows, and pass the shore,
And wing their way o'er the pathless main.

There is no rest for the weary wing,
No quivering bough where the feet can cling;
To the North, to the South, to the East, to the West,
The ocean lies with its heaving breast,
Within it, without it there is no rest.

The tempest gathers beneath them far,
The Wind-god rides on his battle-car,
And the roar of the thunder, the lightning-flash,
Break on the waves with a sullen crash;
But Silence reigns where the Passage-birds fly,
And o'er them stretches the clear blue sky.

The day wears out, and the starry night
Hushes the world to sleep, to sleep;
The dew-shower falls in the still moonlight,
And none wake now, save those who weep;
But rustling on through the starry night,
Like a band of spirits the Passage-birds flee,
Cleaving the darkness above the sea,
Swift and straight as an arrow's flight.
Is the wind their guide through the trackless sky?
For here there's no landmark to travel by.

The first faint streak of the morning glows,
Like the feeble blush on the budding rose;
And in long grey lines the clouds divide,
And march away with retreating Night,
Whilst the bright gleams of victorious Light,
Follow them goldenly far and wide:
And when the mists have all pass'd away,
And left the heavens serene and clear,
As an eye that has never shed a tear.

And the universe basks in the smile of Day,
Dreamy and still, and the sleepy breeze,
Lazily moves o'er the glassy seas,
The Passage-birds flit o'er the disc of noon,
Like shadows across a mirror's face,
For now their journey wanes apace,
And the realms of Summer they'll enter soon.

The land looms far through the waters blue,
The Land of Promise, the Land of Rest;
Through cloud and storm they have travell'd true,
And joy thrills now in each throbbing breast
Down they sink, with a wheeling flight,
Whilst the song of birds comes floating high,
And they pass the lark in the sunny sky;
But down, without pausing, down they fly;
Their travel is over, their Summer shines bright.