The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 21

Enough for mortal brow to wear The crown thy prowess won:-- Grim warrior, grand in battle!

Rapt christian, meek in prayer!-- Vain age! that fain would reproduce A character as rare!

The world has owned its heroes;-- Its martyrs, great and good, Who rode the storm of power, Or swam the sea of blood:-- Napoleons, Caesars, Cromwells, Melancthons, Luthers brave!

But, who than Jackson ever yet Has filled a prouder grave?

The cause for which he struggled, May fall before the foe: Stout hearts, devoted to their trust, All moulder, cold and low.

The land may prove a charnel-house For millions of the slain, And blood and carnage mark the track Where madmen march amain,-- Fanatic heels may scourge it, Black demons blight the sod; And h.e.l.l's foul desolation Mock Liberty's fair G.o.d.-- The future leave no record, Of mighty struggle there, Save hollowness, and helplessness, And bitter, bald despair.-- Proud cities lose their names e'en; Tall towers fall to earth.-- Mount Vernon fade, and Westmoreland Forget ill.u.s.trious birth;-- And yet, upon tradition, Will float the name of him Whose virtues time may tarnish not, Eternity not dim.

Whose life on earth was only, So grand, so free, so pure, For brighter realms and sunnier skies, A preparation sure.

And whose sweet faith, so child-like, Nor blast, nor surge nor rod, One moment could avert from The bosom of his G.o.d.

Bury the mighty dead!

Long, long to live in story!

Bury the hero dead In his own shroud of glory!

IN MEMORIAM.

FRANK M. CRUIKSHANK, DIED 1862.

Frank is dead! The mournful message Comes gushing from the ocean's roar.

Frank is dead! His mortal pa.s.sage Has ended on the heavenly sh.o.r.e.

In earthly agony he died To join his Saviour crucified.

Frank is dead! Time's bitter trials Drove him a wanderer from home, To meet life's lot, share its denials, Or gain a rest where cares ne'er come.

His frail form sinking, his grand spirit Careered to realms the blest inherit.

Frank is dead! In life's young morning, When heavenly promise lit his day, His smitten spirit, homeward turning, Forsook its tenement of clay.

No more to battle here with sin; No more to suffer mid earth's din.

Frank is dead! By fever stricken, How long he suffered, and how deep!

With none to feel his hot blood quicken, No loved one near to calm his sleep.

No mother's presence him to gladden: Naught, naught to cheer--all, all to sadden.

Frank is dead! His pangs are over.

His gentle spirit hence has flown.

Strangers, with earth, his body cover, Strangers attend his dying moan.

On stranger forms his eyes last close, To meet A FRIEND in their repose.

Frank is dead! Aye! weep, fond mourner!

The grand, the beautiful is lost.

Too pure for earth, the meek sojourner, On pa.s.sion's billows tempest-tossed, Has found a source of sweeter bliss In realms that sunder wide from this.

Frank is dead! Yes, dead to sorrow, Dead to sadness, dead to pain.

Dead! Dead to all save the tomorrow Whose light eternally shall reign.

He's dead to young ambition's vow And the big thought that stamped his brow.

Frank is dead! Dead to the labors He'd staked his life to triumph in:-- To win his friends, his dying neighbors, And fellows all from death and sin.

With steady faith he toiled to fit Christ's armor on and honor it.

Frank is dead! Omniscient pleasure Has closed his bright career too soon To realize how rich a treasure The ranks had entered ere high noon.

His brilliant promise, dashed in youth, One less is left to fight for truth.

Frank is dead! Yes, dead to mortals.

No more we'll see his n.o.ble brow Or flashing eye; but in the portals Above, by faith I see him now With gladden'd step and fluttering heart, Marching to share the better part.

Frank is dead!! No, never, never!

Not dead but only gone before.

Back,--back! Thou tear-drop, rising ever; Nor Heaven's fiat now deplore.

Wail not the sorrows earth can lend To banish spirits that ascend.

And fare thee well, my n.o.ble brother!

'Tis hard to think that thou art not; To realize that never other Footstep like thine shall share my cot, And think of all thy heart endured, By sore besetments often tried.

But,--Heaven be thanked,--all now is cured And thou, fair boy, art glorified.

NEW-YEAR ODE.

[1863.]

Let the bier move onward.--Let no tear be shed.

The midnight watch is ended: The grim old year is dead.

His life was full of turmoil. In death he ends his woes.

As fraught with toil his pilgrimage, may peaceful be its close.

Let the bier move onward.--Let no tear drop fall.

The couch of birth is waiting the egress of the pall.

Haste! Hasten the obsequies:--the natal hour is nigh.

Waste not a moment weeping when expectation's high.

Draw back the veil; the curtain lift.

Ho! Thirsting hearts, rejoice!

The new-born is no puny gift:-- Time's latest, grandest choice.

Nurseling and giant! Infant grown!

Majestic even now!

'Tis well that such a restless throne Descends to such as thou.

Dame nature's travail bore thee; Her pangs a world upheaved.

A world now bending o'er thee Awaits those pangs relieved.

A world is waiting for thee: And shall it be deceived?

Ah no! Such pangs were never To mother giv'n in vain.

Rise, new-born! Rise and sever Tyranny's clanking chain.