by Harriet Monroe
Oh, hero of our younger race!
Great builder of a temple new!
Ruler, who sought no lordly place!
Warrior who sheathed the sword he drew!
Lover of men, who saw afar
A world unmarred by want or war,
Who knew the path, and yet forbore
To tread, till all men should implore;
Who saw the light, and led the way
Where the gray world might greet the day;
Father and leader, prophet sure,
Whose will in vast works shall endure,
How shall we praise him on this day of days,
Great son of fame who has no need of praise?
How shall we praise him? Open wide the -
Of heroes moves o'er unresounding floors
Men whose brawned arms upraised these colors high
And reared the towers that vanish in the sky,-
The strong who, having wrought, can never, never die.
Last updated January 14, 2019