THE COLONIAL PIONEER.
A soul that like a column white
Survives the wind and rain,
Immortal as the Infinite,
Thy precepts shall remain
While man shall reverence motherhood,
Or galleons sail the seas,
While Earth shall clothe thy mortal frame,
Or leaves shall clothe the trees.
E’en as a shaft of morning burns,
Thy spirit, ever new,
Shall symbol the Eternal mind,
The Brave, the Good, the True.
Knight of the Forum of the Dead,
A hero of the past,
Born of New England’s virgin soil,
Lord of the Nation’s cast
Our daily lot with common men,
Of rectitude of heart,
Give us the burdens of the world
And help us act our part.
And look! some oracle of time—
Some sorcerer of ooze and slime—
Has left a panoply most rare
For lazy-footed night to wear,
With girdle of a sombre dye,
And hung it on a rock to dry,
Where, flushed with slumber, drones a stream
To charm some lonely mermaid’s dream.
And this my heritage, more fair
Than mosque that ever called to prayer
A Moslem, bids me kneel and pray;
These simple words are all I say—
“I’ve been with God an hour or two”—
A shadow tiptoes down the blue;
And like a mother wraps the sea
In stillness of eternity.
Marshfield, August 16, 1920.