At General Grant's Tomb.

A poem by Hattie Howard

Afar my loyal spirit stirred
At mention of his name;
Afar in ringing notes I heard
The clarion voice of fame;
So to his tomb, hope long deferred,
With reverent step I came.

The pilgrim muse revivified
A half-forgotten day:
A slow procession, tearful-eyed,
In funeral array,
And from MacGregor's lonely side
A hero borne away.

Here sleeps he now, where long ago
Hath nature raised his mound:
A mighty channel far below,
Divided hills around,
Where countless thousands come and go
As to a shrine renowned.

With awe do strangers' eyes discern
A casket mid the green
Luxuriance of flower and fern;
Airy and cool and clean,
Unchanged from spring to spring's return,
This charnel chamber scene.

His country's weal his care and thought,
Beloved in peace was he;
Magnanimous in war - shall not
The nation grateful be,
And render at his burial spot
A testimonial free?

Oh, let us, ere the days come on
When energy is spent,
To him, the silent soldier gone,
Statesman and President,
On Riverside's majestic lawn
Uprear a monument.

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