Classic Poem

O righteous God, thou Judge supreme!
We tremble at thy dreadful name,
And all our crying guilt we own,
In dust and tears before thy throne.

So manifold our crimes have been,
Such crimson tincture dyes our sin,
That, could we all its horrors know,
Our streaming eyes with blood might flow.

Justly might this polluted land
Prove all the vengeance of thy hand;
And, bath'd in heav'n, thy sword might come,
To drink our blood and seal our doom.

Yet hast thou not a remnant here,
Whose souls are fill'd with pious fear?
Lord! bring thy wonted mercy nigh,
While prostrate at thy feet they lie.

Behold their tears, attend their moan,
Their sighs regard, thy grace make known;
With these we join our humble pray'r,
Our nation shield, our country spare.

FOR THE MEETING OF THE MASSACHUSETTS MEDICAL SOCIETY, 1859

'Tis sweet of fight our battles o'er,
And crown with honest praise
The gray old chief, who strikes no more
The blow of better days.

Before the true and trusted sage
With willing hearts we bend,
When years have touched with hallowing age
Our Master, Guide, and Friend.

For all his manhood's labor past,
For love and faith long tried,
His age is honored to the last,
Though strength and will have died.

But when, untamed by toil and strife,
Full in our front he stands,
The torch of light, the shield of life,
Still lifted in his hands,

No temple, though its walls resound
With bursts of ringing cheers,
Can hold the honors that surround
His manhood's twice-told years!