An Ode.[126]

ALMIGHTY POWER!--The ONE SUPREME! Our souls inspire, attune our lays With hearts as solemn as our theme, To sing hosannas to thy praise!

Then, while we swell the sacred song, And bid the pealing anthem rise May seraphim the strain prolong, And hymns of glory fill the skies.

Thy word omnific form’d this earth, Ere time began revolving years-- Thy fiat gave to Nature birth, And tuned to harmony the spheres.

When stern oppression’s iron hand, Our pious fathers forced to roam, And o’er the wild wave seek the land Where freedom rears her hallow’d dome--

When tempests howl’d, and o’er the main, Pale horror rear’d his haggard form; Thou didst the fragile bark sustain To stem the fury of the storm!

Thou badest the wilderness disclose The varied sweets of vernal bloom-- The desert blossom’d like the rose, And breath’d Arabia’s rich perfume!

Look down from heaven’s empyreal height, And gild with smiles this happy day; Send us some chosen SON OF LIGHT Our feet to guide in wisdom’s way.

The sons of faction strike with awe, And hush the din of party rage, That LIBERTY, secured by LAW, May realize a golden age.

On those thy choicest blessings shower To whom the cares of State are given; May Justice wield the sword of power, TILL EARTH’S THE MINIATURE OF HEAVEN!

ON THE DEATH OF WASHINGTON.

Why moves to mournful measures slow Yon sable retinue of wo, With tearful eye and visage pale? And why this universal gloom? Sure Nature trembles o’er her tomb, And bids her wilder’d children wail!

Do plagues infest, do wars alarm, Has God in wrath made bare his arm, To hurl his bolts of vengeance round? Have towns been sack’d by hostile ire, Have cities sunk in floods of fire, While earthquakes shook the shuddering ground?

Ah! no, thy sons, Columbia, mourn A hero past that fatal “bourn From whence no traveller returns;” Before him none more good, more great, E’er felt the unerring shafts of fate, Though glory’s lamp illume their urns.

Behold yon pallid war-worn chief, A marble monument of grief, Who once our troops to victory led;-- The burst of sorrow now control, But now the tears of anguish roll, A tribute to the immortal dead!

Fain would the muse those virtues scan, Which dignified the godlike man, And launch in seas without a shore; But sure his name alone conveys More than a thousand hymns of praise, The matchless WASHINGTON’S no more!