by John Vance Cheney
First of the deedful, giant few,
So high in Freedom's grace he grew,
To-day his voice she leans to hear
Across a hundred noisy year;
The virtues meet in him to vie,
As, in autumn weather,
Sunset colors gather
Down the western sky,
Divulging, ere they pass,
The dyes of which the daylight was.
The lawless gods no more allot
As in old Homer's tales;
According as ourselves have wrought,
So hang the honest scales:
Our brown-haired, blue-eyed Saul
Of battle, stalwart, tall,
Must climb, unstayed,
The heights he made.
August, unfellowed to the last,
From height to height he passed;
The day-star of his race,
He rose, he shone into his place.
Stands yet the Father as he stood,
Full statured, great, sublimely good.
Before God's face he wrought;
It cannot come to naught.
As fate's was his right hand;
He built, and it shall stand.
Last updated September 07, 2017