. Blood for blood; a legend of the "big elm tree,". 38 GRANT ! Behold, behold!Upon the star-gemmed pinnacle of fameIs written his immortal name,And men in all the zones of earth proclaimThat it shall shine until the stars wax old. Tis knownIn every land where freedom has a song,And where, beneath centuries of wrong,God-imaged creatures burdened lie, yet longTo stand erect and cease to suffer and to groan. Tis spokenWherever scars of battle are yet worn,Or deeds of valor done, or banners borneAloft in victory, or where mournIn bonds the slave whose shackles are unbroken. His nameShall echo down
. Blood for blood; a legend of the "big elm tree,". 38 GRANT ! Behold, behold!Upon the star-gemmed pinnacle of fameIs written his immortal name,And men in all the zones of earth proclaimThat it shall shine until the stars wax old. Tis knownIn every land where freedom has a song,And where, beneath centuries of wrong,God-imaged creatures burdened lie, yet longTo stand erect and cease to suffer and to groan. Tis spokenWherever scars of battle are yet worn,Or deeds of valor done, or banners borneAloft in victory, or where mournIn bonds the slave whose shackles are unbroken. His nameShall echo down the converging aisles of time,With that of him who purged a nations crime—Shall echo to every act that is sublime,In endless reverberations of his fame. 39 J. 40 DESPONDENCY AND HOPE Despondency called on Time in the night,While he sat in his loft with a lamp for a blink of an owl and the poppys perfume,And a nod from Time at his intricate loom,Were the only welcomes the visitor readWhen he entered the Weavers presence, and said: O Time, I can not upright stand—Take thou my thin and wrinkled dim has grown my anxious eye,I scarcely see thy shuttle fly;So dull has grown my listening ear,Thy shuttle I can scarcely roof is rent, and starlight fallsUpon thy dimly lighted walls;The bat flies in and out thy door,And lizards steal across thy floor. O Time, I trail the mountain side,Where thorns are thick and lions hide:There vultures rest the tired wing,And eagles scream, but never that trail no sign-boards standTo point me to the better land— 41
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