Root, rind and leaf a traitor tribe o’erspread;
Worms sap its trunk and tempests bow its head.
But the land lives not, dies not, in one man,
Were he the purest lived since life began.
Upon no single anchor rests our fate:
Millions of breasts engird and guard the state.
Yet, o’er each true heart, in the nation’s night,
Will Taylor’s memory rise, a pillared light;
His lofty soul will prop the patriot’s pride,
His virtues animate, his wisdom guide.