THE DEAD STATESMAN.

I see his Shape who should have led these ranks —

GARFIELD I see whose presence had evoked

The stormy rapture of a Nation's thanks —

His chariot stands unyoked!

Unyoked and empty, and the Charioteer

To Fame's expanded arms has headlong rushed

Ending the glories of a grand career,

While all the world stood hushed.

The thunder of his wheels is done, but he

Sustained by patience, fortitude, and grace —

A Christian Hero — from the struggle free —

Has won the Christian's race!

His wheel-tracks stop not in the Valley cold

But upward lead, and on, and up, and higher,

Till Hope can realize and Faith behold

His chariot mount in fire!

Therefore, my Countrymen, lift up your hearts!

Therefore, my Countrymen, be not cast down!

He lives with those who well have done their parts,

And God bestowed his crown!

And yet another form to-day I miss;—

Grigsby the scholar, good, and pure, and wise,

Who now, perchance, from scenes of perfect bliss

Looks down with tender eyes.

Where his great friend, through life great Winthrop stands,

Winthrop, whose gift, in life's departing hours,

Went to the dying Old Virginian's hands

Who died amid those flowers.

Prayers change to blooms, the ancient Rabbins taught;

So his, then, seemed to blossom forth and glow,

As if his supplicating soul had brought

Sandalphon down below.

But, happily, that Winthrop stood to-day,

The patriot, scholar, orator, and sage,

To tell the meaning of this grand array

And vindicate an Age.

That Era's life and meaning his to teach,

To him the parchments, but the shell to me,

His voice the voice of billows on the beach

Wherein we heard the sea.

My voice the voice of some sequestered stream

Which only boasts, as on its waters glide,

That, here and there, it shows a broken gleam

Of pictures on its tide.