Page:Records of Woman.pdf/213

Rh

"For it is not as a flower whose scent with the dropping leaves expires, And it is not as a household lamp, that a breath should quench its fires; It is written on our battle-fields with the writing of the sword, It hath left upon our desert-sands a light in blessings pour'd.

"The founts, the many gushing founts, which to the wild ye gave, Of you, my chiefs, shall sing aloud, as they pour a joyous wave; And the groves, with whose deep lovely gloom ye hung the pilgrim's way, Shall send from all their sighing leaves your praises on the day.