Poet
Charles Sprague
1857–1902
English
- Alas! for them--their day is o'er
- All gone! 'tis ours, the goodly land
- All gone! the wild beast's lair is trodden out
- And never may they rest unsung
- And was this savage? say
- And ye, this holy place who throng
- And You! ye bright ascended Dead
- Behold! they come--those sainted forms
- But not alone, not all unblessed
- By centuries now the glorious hour we mark
- Cold, with the beast he slew, he sleeps
- Forget? no, never--ne'er shall die
- I venerate the Pilgrim's cause
- In grateful adoration now
- Not to the Pagan's mount I turn
- O doubly lost! oblivion's shadows close
- O many a time it hath been told
- Peace to the mingling dead
- So, when our children turn the page
- Spread out earth's holiest records here
- Take then my prayer, Ye dwellers of this spot
- The sceptre's might, the crosier's pride
- They come--that coming who shall tell
- This be our story then, in that far day
- This may not wake the poet's verse
- We call them savage--O be just
- When Israel's race from bondage fled
- Ye mothers, too, breathe ye no sigh
- Yet while by life's endearments crowned
- Yet, strong in weakness, there they stand