24
An Ode for the 22d of February.
Now let your plaintive numbers gently rise, In weeping strains and softly
swelling sighs; COLUMBIA'S GLORY'S fled! COLUMBIA'S GLORY'S fled!
Virtue commands and piety approves
T he gen'ral grief; the MAN his country loves
Is number'd with the dead!
His was the meed of glory's brightest fame.
His be the wreath- to his immortal name
Ascribe the honors just.
This joyless day, in shrouded, sullen gloom-
This hapless eve, we come to re-entomb
The HERO's sacred dust.
Awful reverse! On this once joyous morn,
Delightful era, was our PATRIOT born;
But ah, he's seen no more!
How fills the eye with sorrow's copious tears!
How swells the heart with sad foreboding fears!
COLUMBIA'S joys are o'er!
Before thy throne, great GOD, we humbly bring
Our infant realm: Be THOU OUR FRIEND and KING
'Till time shall be no more. |