In Memory of Henry W. Grady
SHALL we not mourn for those who pass
Like meteors from the midnight sky,
From out the gleaming heights of fame,
As those who for their country die?
Who die, and sleep in dreamless slumber,
Where sunbeams like a blessing shed
Their glories, and the rain-drops, falling,
Weep ever o’er our Southern dead.
Of silvery tongue, and heart of fire,
And grace of manhood, what is left?
A voiceless grief—a tear—a sigh,
A nation of her son bereft.
Great soul with eloquence o’erflowing,
In rhythmic measures sweet and grand,
Great heart whose mission was a message
Of peace and good will, thro’ the land.
O tongue of flame by truth inspired!
Tho’ thou art silent, and we never
May hear again thy stirring strains,
They’ll echo in our halls forever.
Thy life was like a rushing river,
That proudly bore upon its breast
Our highest hopes unto a haven,
Where heroes dwell, and patriots rest.
Sleep well! tho’ thou art gone, the grave
Holds but the outward earthly shrine,
That held within its clay-cold breast
The sacred spark of life divine.
Sleep well! immortal, unforgotten,
Where buds and blossoms round thee blow,
And the soft fires of Southern sunsets
In glory gild thy couch below.
Elizabeth J. Hereford.
Dallas, Texas.