Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/178

POEMS OF OCCASION VII

These fanes, that bred their patriot to vie

In steadfastness, erect of thought to live,

Or, when the country bade, undauntedly

Without lament to die

Save that he had but one young life to give.

VIII

Twice, thrice, and yet again, that sovereign call

Rang not in vain; nor from this ancient grove

Hath ceased to broaden, as the days befall,

The famed processional

Of the mind's workmen who to greatness move.

IX

No feebling she that reared them, no forlorn

And wrinkled mother lingering in the gray;

Fadeless she smiles to see her shield upborne:

It is her morn, her morn!

The past, but twilight ushering in her day.

X

Strong Mother! thou who from the doorways old,

Or housed anew in beauty renovate,

Hast spread thine heritage a hundred-fold,—

Hast wrought us to thy mould

Whether the bread of ease or toil we ate;

XI

Thou who hast made thy sons coequal all,

The least one of thy progeny a peer

Wearing for worth not birth his coronal,—

The watchmen on thy wall

Wax proud this sundawn of thy cyclic year!

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