HENRY W. GRADY.
LAMENTED Son of Georgia,
Thou wert New England’s honored guest
In welcome glad, but yesterday,
With charming speech and banquet’s zest.
In glowing life, so recently,
From Plymouth Rock and Bunker’s Hill,
Thy vision swept the Pilgrim’s sea,—
But now in death thy heart is still.
And in thine own dear native clime,
Thou art at rest in early tomb,
Where brightest skies expand sublime,
And choicest flowers forever bloom.
Thy work ere yet at zenith done,
But harvests, o’er thy fertile field,
Are waving in the noonday sun,
Like billows, with abundant yield.
Now fallen, but more glorious,
In peaceful triumph grander far
Than pageant kings victorious,
With bleeding captives, spoils of war.
O, ye bereaved, in mourning bowed,
Around Atlanta’s noble dead!
What woe is in your wailing land;
How hallowed is the ground ye tread!
A joyous home, now desolate,
A circle broken, sad and lone,
A vacant chair in Sable State,
A husband, father, loved one gone.
A widowed mother, mute with grief,
Whose weeping children call in vain,
Their cries and tears bring no relief,
Thou can’st not meet them here again.
And yet, beyond this hour of gloom,
Athwart the sky, the promised bow,
Above these clouds, and o’er thy tomb,
The starry heavens are bending low.
In memory of loving worth,
Sweet thoughts like hidden springs will flow;
Rare flowers in oasis have birth,
As Sorrow’s deserts verdant grow.
With patriotic, burning zeal,
Thy brilliant genius, tongue and pen,
Were wielded for the common weal,
The good of all thy countrymen.
O’er ruins of the effete Old,
Thou wrought to build a better New,
Whose peerless glories might unfold,
As North and South together grew.
Thou longed to note accordant band
Of Sister States through future years,
A Union for the world to stand
With little aid of blood and tears.
Of such a spirit, He who taught
Eternal Truth in Galilee;
The human and divine in-wrought
With perfect love and charity.
And so thy deeds will grow in grace,
They are exalted, wise and pure,
For freedom and the human race,
And in our hearts will long endure.
For thee nor local, fleeting fame,
But for all nations, space and time;
Around thy lofty, shining name,
Unfading laurels we entwine.
G. W. Lyon.
Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Jan. 18, 1890.