| |
| TWO centuries have left their hoary trace | |
| Upon yon ancient pile of weathered stone. | |
| Triumphant church! It stands alone! | |
| Militant no more, nor of the present race. | |
| Its elder saints, called to celestial grace, | 5 |
| No longer now their sins bemoan. | |
| |
| No architectural fancy mars its wall, | |
| Nor modern beauty frets its artless mould; | |
| The truth is plain, ’t is very old; | |
| And as I enter through its silent hall, | 10 |
| From faded recollection I recall | |
| The names its history has told. | |
| |
| In imaged thought I seem to see once more, | |
| Around its homely porch and narrow walk, | |
| The sturdy youth in rustic frock; | 15 |
| And decked in quaintest fashion, as of yore | |
| Are grouped the maidens round the outer door; | |
| I hear the ancient people talk. | |
| |
| Their uncouth dialect and gestured speech | |
| Betray the lusty blood of Fatherland. | 20 |
| A stern and pious little band, | |
| Their simple parson leads to pray and preach. | |
| They know by heart the lesson he will teach, | |
| And crave a blessing from his hand. | |
| |
| Alas! the voices which I seem to hear | 25 |
| Are dreamy echoes of the silent ones; | |
| I read the churchyard’s dingy stones, | |
| The very names sound agéd to the ear, | |
| And half the rude memorials disappear | |
| Where’er the sere gray lichen runs. | 30 |
| |
| Scarce distant from these ancient graves, I turn | |
| And trace the In Memoriam, by the dust | |
| Of one whose pure disdain of lust, | |
| Whose famed yet gentle life no marble urn | |
| Nor bronze recites; but only hedge and fern | 35 |
| Are wreathed about a nation’s trust. | |
| |
| The love a selfish world unselfish bears | |
| Is better left to memory alone; | |
| No need of praise on mocking stone | |
| Where every passing eye in wonder stares; | 40 |
| Or, richly blazoned in the city squares, | |
| Forsooth to claim what men disown. | |
| |
| Ah! not the boasting shaft enshrines the man. | |
| Time has no hour in which to knell the fame | |
| Upborne by an immortal claim. | 45 |
| For it a bridge ethereal shall span | |
| The ages; nor the wisest critic’s ban, | |
| Nor aught despoil the deathless name. | |
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