In Memoriam
Of Our Right-Revered Father in God, Leonidas Polk, Lieutenant-General Confederate States Army
Peace, troubled soul! The strife is done,
This life’s fierce conflicts and its woes are ended:
There is no more—eternity begun,
Faith merged in sight—hope with fruition blended.
Peace, troubled soul!
The Warrior rests upon his bier,
Within his coffin calmly sleeping.
His requiem the cannon peals,
And heroes of a hundred fields
Their last sad watch are round him keeping.
Joy, sainted soul! Within the vale
Of Heaven’s great temple, is thy blissful dwelling;
Bathed in a light, to which the sun is pale,
Archangels’ hymns in endless transports swelling.
Joy, sainted soul!
Back to her altar which he served,
The Holy Church her child is bringing.
The organ’s wail then dies away,
And kneeling priests around him pray,
As De Profundis they are singing.
Bring all the trophies, that are owed
To him at once so great, so good.
His Bible and his well-used sword—
His snowy lawn not “stained with blood!”
No! pure as when before his God,
He laid its spotless folds aside,
War’s path of awful duty trod,
And on his country’s altar died!
Oh! Warrior-bishop, Church and State
Sustain in thee an equal loss;
But who would call thee from thy weight
Of glory, back to bear life’s cross!
The Faith was kept—thy course was run,
Thy good fight finished; hence the word,
“Well done, oh! faithful child, well done,
Taste thou the mercies of thy Lord!”
No dull decay nor lingering pain,
By slow degrees, consumed thy health,
A glowing messenger of flame
Translated thee by fiery death!
And we who in one common grief
Are bending now beneath the rod,
In this sweet thought may find relief,
“Our holy father walked with God,
And is not—God has taken him!”
Viola.