Samuel Hoar

A year ago how often did I meet Under these elms, once more in sober bloom, Thy tall, sad figure pacing down the street,— But now the robin sings above thy tomb. Thy name on other shores may ne’er be known, Though austere Rome no graver Consul knew; But Massachusetts her true son doth own: Out of her soil thy hardy virtues grew. She loves the man who chose the conquered cause, The upright soul that bowed to God alone, The clean hand that upheld her equal laws, The old religion, never yet outgrown, The cold demeanor and warm heart beneath, The simple grandeur of thy life and death.

Collection: 
English
Franklin Benjamin Sanborn

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