Will come to kneel beside his grave,
And hail him prophet of the free.
’Tis holier ground, that lowly bed
In which his mouldering form is laid,
Than fields where Liberty has bled
Beside her broken battle-blade.
Who now, in danger’s fearful hour,
When all around is wild and dark,
Shall guard with voice, and arm of power,
Our freedom’s consecrated ark?