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Full Online Book HomePoemsA Memorial Tribute To Dr. Samuel G. Howe
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A Memorial Tribute To Dr. Samuel G. Howe Post by :shepherd Category :Poems Author :Oliver Wendell Holmes Date :November 2010 Read :2280

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A Memorial Tribute To Dr. Samuel G. Howe



LEADER of armies, Israel's God,
Thy soldier's fight is won!
Master, whose lowly path he trod,
Thy servant's work is done!

No voice is heard from Sinai's steep
Our wandering feet to guide;
From Horeb's rock no waters leap;
No Jordan's waves divide;

No prophet cleaves our western sky
On wheels of whirling fire;
No shepherds hear the song on high
Of heaven's angelic choir.

Yet here as to the patriarch's tent
God's angel comes a guest;
He comes on heaven's high errand sent,
In earth's poor raiment drest.

We see no halo round his brow
Till love its own recalls,
And, like a leaf that quits the bough,
The mortal vesture falls.

In autumn's chill declining day,
Ere winter's killing frost,
The message came; so passed away
The friend our earth has lost.

Still, Father, in thy love we trust;
Forgive us if we mourn
The saddening hour that laid in dust
His robe of flesh outworn.


How long the wreck-strewn journey seems
To reach the far-off past
That woke his youth from peaceful dreams
With Freedom's trumpet-blast.

Along her classic hillsides rung
The Paynim's battle-cry,
And like a red-cross knight he sprung
For her to live or die.

No trustier service claimed the wreath
For Sparta's bravest son;
No truer soldier sleeps beneath
The mound of Marathon;

Yet not for him the warrior's grave
In front of angry foes;
To lift, to shield, to help, to save,
The holier task he chose.

He touched the eyelids of the blind,
And lo! the veil withdrawn,
As o'er the midnight of the mind
He led the light of dawn.

He asked not whence the fountains roll
No traveller's foot has found,
But mapped the desert of the soul
Untracked by sight or sound.

What prayers have reached the sapphire throne,
By silent fingers spelt,
For him who first through depths unknown
His doubtful pathway felt,

Who sought the slumbering sense that lay
Close shut with bolt and bar,
And showed awakening thought the ray
Of reason's morning star.

Where'er he moved, his shadowy form
The sightless orbs would seek,
And smiles of welcome light and warm
The lips that could not speak.

No labored line, no sculptor's art,
Such hallowed memory needs;
His tablet is the human heart,
His record loving deeds.


The rest that earth denied is thine,--
Ah, is it rest? we ask,
Or, traced by knowledge more divine,
Some larger, nobler task?

Had but those boundless fields of blue
One darkened sphere like this;
But what has heaven for thee to do
In realms of perfect bliss?

No cloud to lift, no mind to clear,
No rugged path to smooth,
No struggling soul to help and cheer,
No mortal grief to soothe!

Enough; is there a world of love,
No more we ask to know;
The hand will guide thy ways above
That shaped thy task below.

(The end)
Oliver Wendell Holmes's poem: Memorial Tribute To Dr. Samuel G. Howe

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Joseph Warren, M. D Joseph Warren, M. D

Joseph Warren, M. D
TRAINED in the holy art whose lifted shieldWards off the darts a never-slumbering foe,By hearth and wayside lurking, waits to throw,Oppression taught his helpful arm to wieldThe slayer's weapon: on the murderous fieldThe fiery bolt he challenged laid him low,Seeking its noblest victim. Even soThe charter of a nation must be sealed!The healer's brow the hero's honors crowned,From lowliest duty called to loftiest deed.Living, the oak-leaf wreath his temples bound;Dying, the conqueror's laurel was his meed,Last on the broken ramparts' turf to bleedWhere Freedom's victory in defeat was found.June 11, 1875.(The end)Oliver Wendell Holmes's poem: Joseph Warren, M. D

Hymn For The Inauguration Of The Statue Of Governor Andrew Hymn For The Inauguration Of The Statue Of Governor Andrew

Hymn For The Inauguration Of The Statue Of Governor Andrew
HINGHAM, OCTOBER 7, 1875BEHOLD the shape our eyes have known!It lives once more in changeless stone;So looked in mortal face and formOur guide through peril's deadly storm.But hushed the beating heart we knew,That heart so tender, brave, and true,Firm as the rooted mountain rock,Pure as the quarry's whitest block!Not his beneath the blood-red starTo win the soldier's envied sear;Unarmed he battled for the right,In Duty's never-ending fight.Unconquered will, unslumbering eye,Faith such as bids the martyr die,The prophet's glance, the master's handTo mould the work his foresight planned,These were his gifts; what Heaven had lentFor justice, mercy, truth, he spent,First to avenge