George Denison Prentice (1802–1870)

WHY swell a million hearts as one

With memories of the past?

Why rings out yon deep thunder-gun

Upon the rushing blast?

Why hold the beautiful and brave

The jubilee of earth?

It is, it is the day that gave

Our patriot hero birth.

We offer here a sacrifice

Of hearts to him who came

To guard young Freedom’s paradise

With sword of living flame:

To him who, in War’s whirlwind loud,

Rode like an angel form,

And set his glory on the cloud—

A halo of the storm.

A hundred years, with all their trains

Of shadow, have gone by,

And yet his glorious name remains—

A sound that cannot die!

’Tis graven on the hill, the vale,

And on the mountain tall,

And speaks in every sounding gale,

And roaring waterfall!

No marble, on his resting-spot,

Its sculptured column rears:

But his is still a nobler lot—

A grateful nation’s tears.

Old Time, that bids the marble bow,

Makes green each laurel leaf

That blooms upon the sainted brow

Of our immortal chief!

His deeds were ours—but through the world

That mighty name will be,

Where glory’s banner is unfurl’d,

The watchword of the free—

And as they bend their eagle eyes

On Victory’s burning sun,

Their shouts will echo to the skies—

“Our God and Washington!”