Postlude:

Lo, o'er the fields at home now sinks the sun,
And with the crickets' hum
The tinkling bells of cattle homeward come
Familiar tell
The dim, tired land another day is done.
And my song pauses for a last farewell
To you, and greeting unto one
Whose ears
Have caught, how many happy years,
The murmurs of the music of our speech,
Whose tongue
Our simple days with kindred art has sung,
And kept a silence where no word could reach.
Him by whose Brandywine
First strayed in childhood days these feet of mine,
Brother and friend,
I hail him as our State's sufficient pride
And give him part—
Whose words, deep-springing from a people's heart,
Home-gathered there abide—
In glories of a day that has its end,
As has at length the lingering song of one
Who brought his dreams to thee, O City of the Sun!
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