TRUMBULL GALLERY.
’Tis well to gaze upon thee, glorious chief:There is instruction with thee. There’s no briefOr fleeting lesson traced on thy calm brow.A nation’s love is thine. Her prayer is nowUprising for thy weal. A nation’s lifeIs trusted to thy care; and calls thee to the strife.The mother leaneth on her well tried sonAnd finds thee never wanting, Washington.The angry waters leap and roar below.Danger is on the air—sounds of the mighty foe—Wildness is all around thee. The scathed oak,Rent rock—earth ploughed by the death wing’d stroke,Wind-shriek, storm-gloom, death-chill.Thou art alone unmoved. Thine eye is stillProudly undaunted—far darting, fearless, grand,Flashing with patriot fire, shielding our father-land.Thine is no kingly dignity. Thy browWears not so poor a wreath.—The sacred glowAnd majesty of freedom beam around thee there—Her laurel crown is thine—no other would’st thou wear.She knows thee, her lov’d worshiper. To guard her shrineNo truer arm the sword has bared, high chief, than thine.’Tis well to think of thee—thy immortality how won,Tried warrior, statesman, father, Washington.Ione.
’Tis well to gaze upon thee, glorious chief:There is instruction with thee. There’s no briefOr fleeting lesson traced on thy calm brow.A nation’s love is thine. Her prayer is nowUprising for thy weal. A nation’s lifeIs trusted to thy care; and calls thee to the strife.The mother leaneth on her well tried sonAnd finds thee never wanting, Washington.The angry waters leap and roar below.Danger is on the air—sounds of the mighty foe—Wildness is all around thee. The scathed oak,Rent rock—earth ploughed by the death wing’d stroke,Wind-shriek, storm-gloom, death-chill.Thou art alone unmoved. Thine eye is stillProudly undaunted—far darting, fearless, grand,Flashing with patriot fire, shielding our father-land.Thine is no kingly dignity. Thy browWears not so poor a wreath.—The sacred glowAnd majesty of freedom beam around thee there—Her laurel crown is thine—no other would’st thou wear.She knows thee, her lov’d worshiper. To guard her shrineNo truer arm the sword has bared, high chief, than thine.’Tis well to think of thee—thy immortality how won,Tried warrior, statesman, father, Washington.Ione.
’Tis well to gaze upon thee, glorious chief:There is instruction with thee. There’s no briefOr fleeting lesson traced on thy calm brow.A nation’s love is thine. Her prayer is nowUprising for thy weal. A nation’s lifeIs trusted to thy care; and calls thee to the strife.The mother leaneth on her well tried sonAnd finds thee never wanting, Washington.
The angry waters leap and roar below.Danger is on the air—sounds of the mighty foe—Wildness is all around thee. The scathed oak,Rent rock—earth ploughed by the death wing’d stroke,Wind-shriek, storm-gloom, death-chill.Thou art alone unmoved. Thine eye is stillProudly undaunted—far darting, fearless, grand,Flashing with patriot fire, shielding our father-land.
Thine is no kingly dignity. Thy browWears not so poor a wreath.—The sacred glowAnd majesty of freedom beam around thee there—Her laurel crown is thine—no other would’st thou wear.She knows thee, her lov’d worshiper. To guard her shrineNo truer arm the sword has bared, high chief, than thine.’Tis well to think of thee—thy immortality how won,Tried warrior, statesman, father, Washington.
Ione.