Classic Poem

AT THE Twenty -F IFTH A NNIVERSARY OF THE C LASS OF 1839

I

Shall the first strain upon the lyre unused
Speak as of old,
When oft it told
Of blush and sigh,
Of hope and fear
And smile and tear,
Of those most beautiful in boyhood's eye?
Shall it sing her, the queen of camps and groves,
Sing of our loves?
So let it sing again;
Surely as men,
In the refrain
Of that eternal strain,
We can sound chords of which we knew not then!

II

Or shall the new string on the rusty lyre
Weep with our woes, —
Speak in memoriam of our loved and lost,
Of bleeding steps of life and what they cost,
Of wreaths that crumbled when we prized them most —
Of yawning gulfs where sunk our tempest-tost?
Such songs as those
In minor strain
We can attune as men
With such a wail of hearts that feel real woes
As Byron school-boys' anguish never knows!

III

Or shall we sing of Hope, — of kingdoms yet to win,
Of worlds released from pain and saved from sin,
Of good times come again?
That vision seen beneath the rainbow arch,
Of blessed futures in their Godward march,
We see as men
As never then.
That vision brightens, and that future glows;
Who knows his failures, — what he hopes for knows!

IV

Does Memory sing?
Some silver wedding bid the bard rehearse, —
Life's lengthening legend in his lengthening verse;
Call on Mnemosyne soft-tongued
To tell the tale each day prolonged, —
With all her drowsy grace
Its picture growing dim to trace.
Is that the song inspires
Our new awakened lyres?
We men can sing — as never years ago!
We men have something to remember now!

V

Seven-stringed our lyre; it beat with love of old,
With love beats now!
Grief, hope and victory, too, — their tale it told;
It tells it now!
Of brooding memory the song it sings,
For patriot war the bloody laurel brings,
Nor lacks the while
This joyous smile
Of happy home,
Past — and to come.
Such chords, new tuned, we strike as men, —
Chords better tuned and better struck than then.

VI

And if our poet rise
To the one theme which tries
All high emprise
Beneath — beyond the skies, —
If to his Lyre he add the octave chord,
Which chimes with each to sing the Eternal Word
And sound the praise of the Eternal God, —
With every year
That comes and goes,
With every tear
That fills and flows,
He knows that God as never known before;
As he floats nearer to the Eternal shore
His love he sings, and scans his purpose, too,
With joy the prating schoolboy never knew.

VII

Aye as we live, Life's song is better sung,
Aye as we live, Life's lyre more tuneful strung, —
The blind receive their sight, the dumb their tongue.
Aye as he grows, God's child becomes more young!