Grant
by H. C. Bunner (1855
- 1896) |
 |
|
Smile on, thou new-come Spring--if on thy breeze
The breath of a great man go wavering up
And out of this
world's knowledge, it is well.
Kindle with thy green
flame the stricken trees,
And fire the rose's many-petaled
cup,
Let bough and branch with quickening life-blood
swell--
But Death shall touch his spirit with a life
That knows not years or seasons. Oh, how small
Thy little
hour of bloom! Thy leaves shall fall,
And be the sport of
winter winds at strife;
But he has taken on eternity.
Yea, of how much this Death doth set him free!--
Now are
we one to love him, once again.
The tie that bound him to
our bitterest pain
Draws him more close to Love and
Memory.
O Spring, with all thy sweetheart frolics,
say,
Hast thou remembrance of those earlier springs
When we wept answer to the laughing day,
And turned aside
from green and gracious things?
There was a sound of
weeping over all--
Mothers uncomforted, for their sons
were not;
And there was crueler silence: tears grew hot
In the true eyes that would not let them fall.
Up
from the South came a great wave of sorrow
That drowned
our hearthstones, splashed with blood our
sills;
To-day, that spared, made terrible To-morrow
With thick
presentiment of coming ills.
Only we knew the Right--but
oh, how strong,
How pitiless, how insatiable the Wrong!
And then the quivering sword-hilt found a hand
That
knew not how to falter or grow weak;
And we looked on,
from end to end the land,
And felt the heart spring up,
and rise afresh
The blood of courage to the whitened
cheek,
And fire of battle thrill the numbing flesh.
Ay, there was death, and pain, and dear ones missed,
And
lips forever to grow pale unkissed;
But lo, the man was
here, and this was he;
And at his hands Faith gave us
victory.
Spring, thy poor life, that mocks his body's
death,
Is but a candle's flame, a flower's breath.
He
lives in days that suffering made dear
Beyond all
garnered beauty of the year.
He lives in all of us that
shall outlive
The sensuous things that paltry time
can give.
This Spring the spirit of his broken age
Across the threshold of its anguish stole--
All of him
that was noble, fearless, sage,
Lives in his loved
nation's strengthened soul. |
By H. C. Bunner (1855 - 1896)
Listed September 13, 2012Note: This poem was written on the day of
President Grant's
death on July
23, 1885.
|
Poem Use Permission Request
USA Patriotism! cannot
provide use permission for a poem or an author's email address
if not listed below the poem. Only the author or a legal
representative can grant permission. Try a search engine to find the
author's contact information for a use permission request or if
it is available for public use.
Note: Poems authored in the
1700s and 1800s can be used with reference to the author. |
Comment on this poem |
|
| | |
|
| Heroes and Patriots Poems | Poem Categories |
|
