Not vainly you perished, O brothers!
For the land of your deathless devotion,
The torch-bearing maid of Bartholdi
Is kindling with splendor the ocean.
One flag over Northland and Southland,
Shall rally the faithful and true,
While ocean rolls gray in the morning,
Or mirrors the stars in its blue.
BISHOP DUDLEY’S DIRGE.
Hang old Christ Church with purple,
The colors of a king,
In honor of the kingly soul
Which hence has taken wing;
In consolation’s labor
He fell—his Lord’s behest—
So evening skies are purple-clad
When goes the sun to rest.
Paul’s Bishop—“Blameless, Vigilant,
Wise, Patient, apt to Teach,”
Careless of fame or lucre,
All men he longed to reach;
“Of Good Report ’mongst those Without,”
Pure, Genial, Loyal, True,
Thus, “Brother Man,” God’s Bishop
Toiled, preached, and sowed for you.
Thus through the land toiled, preached, and sowed
The manliest of men
The seeds of truth, and from his dust
Shall spring his like again;
New Dudleys—’tis the Master’s pledge—
Shall at his voice arise,
For his immortal spirit speaks
To earth from Paradise,
And the purple robes of other kings—
Such force a good example brings—
Shall glorify the skies.
THE DRESS CIRCLE.
[A ball-room mishap of crinoline days, founded on fact.]
“When we have shuffled off this mortal coil.”—Hamlet.
“Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime”?
Where the girls live on partridges, oysters and turtle,
And their days fly as swift as a musical rhyme?
If you don’t it’s a pity—I think you had better
Now listen, my story is true to the letter.