Father, Thy Hand Hath Reared These Venerable

And Kind The Voice And Glad The Eyes That Welcome My Return At Night.

So Live, That When Thy Summons Comes To Join, The Innumerable Caravan Which Moves, To That Mysterious Realm Where Each Shall Take, His Chamber In The Silent Halls Of Death, Thou Go Not, Like The Quarry-slave At Night, Scourged By His Dungeon, But, Sustained And Soothed, By An Unfaltering Trust, Approach Thy Grave, Like One Who Wraps The Drapery Of His Couch, About Him, And Lies Down To Pleasant Dreams.

Pain Dies Quickly, And Lets Her Weary Prisoners Go; The Fiercest Agonies Have Shortest Reign.

Ah, Never Shall The Land Forget How Gush'd The Life-blood Of The Brave, Gush'd Warm With Hope And Courage Yet, Upon The Soil They Fought To Save!

The Victory Of Endurance Born.