His cunning chisel turned to rust.
The hands that dug the grave so deep,
And laid the statue to its sleep,
While hearts beat quick with haste and fear,
And ears were strained a step to hear;
The foe who threatened them that day—
All, all were dead and passed away.
The world had turned and turned it o’er;
Nothing was as it was before.
Still through all change of war or peace,