While royal babes incipient empire hold,
And, for bare promise, grasp the sceptre's gold,
This man such service to his age did bring
That they who knew him servant, hailed him king.
In poverty his infant couch was spread;
His tender hands soon wrought for daily bread;
But from the cradle's bound his willing feet
The errand of the moment went to meet.
When learning's page unfolded to his view,
The quick disciple straight a teacher grew;
And, when the fight of freedom stirred the land,
Armed was his heart and resolute his hand.
Wise in the council, stalwart in the field!
Such rank supreme a workman's hut may yield.
His onward steps like measured marbles show,
Climbing the height where God's great flame doth glow.
Ah! Rose of joy, that hid'st a thorn so sharp!
Ah! Golden woof that meet'st a severed warp!
Ah! Solemn comfort that the stars rain down!
The hero's garland his, the martyr's crown.
Julia Ward Howe.
MIDNIGHT—SEPTEMBER 19, 1881
Once in a lifetime, we may see the veil
Tremble and lift, that hides symbolic things;
The Spirit's vision, when the senses fail,
Sweeps the weird meaning that the outlook brings.
Deep in the midst of turmoil, it may be—
A crowded street, a forum, or a field,—
The soul inverts the telescope to see
To-day's events in future's years revealed.
Back from the present, let us look at Rome:
Behold, what Cato meant, what Brutus said,
Hark! the Athenians welcome Cimon home!
How clear they are, those glimpses of the dead!