Today, O Mother Earth, take back thy clay!
The spirit that employ’d it, by
its flight
Beyond the stars into th’ Eternal Day
Bequeathes it thee—it is thy lender’s
right.
We only plead that thou wilt safe enfold
This dust made sacred by a people’s
grief.
’Twas Honor’s tent—a Patriot’s pure stronghold—
The watch-room of the nation’s
loyal chief!
He loved his native land and used his life
To serve her larger growth in
strength and fame,
Ensuing arts of Peace, deploring Strife,
Resisting all that threaten’d
Wrong or Shame.
Though senseless Anarchy made him its mark
His mortal death was but immortal
birth!
Each freeman’s heart shall be his memory’s ark,
While Liberty extols his peerless
worth!
Atlanta, Ga., September 19, 1901.
