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Updated: May 28, 2025
While yonder comes the powerful King of Day Rejoicing in the East; the lessening cloud, The kindling azure, and the mountains brow Illum'd with fluid gold, his near approach Betoken glad; lo, now apparent all He looks in boundless majesty abroad, And sheds the shining day.
We miss your pen of fire, whose cloven tongue Illum'd the good and blasted what was base. We miss you, fearless fighter for our race, Your arrows words, your bow a will highstrung. We miss you, for you tower'd from among The herd of writers with that careless grace That springs from undisputed strength. Your place Is vacant still. Your bow is still uphung. 'Tis well. This were no time for you.
"Far dearer the grave or the prison, Illum'd by one patriot name, Than the trophies of all who have risen On liberty's ruins to fame." I should feel ashamed of my manhood if I thought myself capable of doing anything mean to save my life, to get out of here, or for any other selfish purpose. Let no man think a cause is lost because some suffer for it.
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