Never offering was richer, nor did temple fairer rise For the gods serenely smiling from the blue Olympian skies; Porphyry or granite column did not statelier cleave the air Than the posts of yonder gallows with the cross-beam waiting there; And the victim, wreathed and crownéd, not for Dian nor for Jove, But for Liberty and Manhood, comes, the sacrifice of Love. They may hang him on the gibbet; they may raise the victor’s cry, When they see him darkly swinging like a speck against the sky;-- Ah! the dying of a hero, that the right may win its way, Is but sowing seed for harvest in a warm and mellow May! Now his story shall be whispered by the firelight’s evening glow, And in fields of rice and cotton, when the hot noon passes slow, Till his name shall be a watch-word from Missouri to the sea, And his planting find its reaping in the birthday of the Free! Christ, the crucified, attend him, weak and erring though he be; In his measure he has striven, suffering Lord! to love like Thee; Thou the vine--thy friends the branches--is he not a branch of Thine, Though some dregs from earthly vintage have defiled the heavenly wine? Now his tendrils lie unclaspéd, bruised and prostrate on the sod,-- Take him to thine upper garden, where the husbandman is God! “OLD JOHN BROWN.” BY REV. E. H. SEARS. Not any spot six feet by two Will hold a man like thee; John Brown will tramp the shaking earth, From Blue Ridge to the sea, Till the strong angel comes at last, And opes each dungeon door, And God’s “Great Charter” holds and waves O’er all his humble poor. And then the humble poor will come, In that far-distant day, And from the felon’s nameless grave They’ll brush the leaves away; And gray old men will point the spot Beneath the pine-tree shade, As children ask with streaming eyes Where “Old John Brown” is laid. DIRGE _Sung at a Meeting in Concord, Mass., Dec. 2, 1859._ To-day, beside Potomac’s wave, Beneath Virginia’s sky, They slay the man who loved the slave, And dared for him to die. The Pilgrim Fathers’ earnest creed, Virginia’s ancient faith, Inspired this hero’s noblest deed, And his reward is--Death! Great Washington’s indignant shade For ever urged him on-- He heard from Monticello’s glade The voice of Jefferson. But chiefly on the Hebrew page He read Jehovah’s law, And this from youth to hoary age Obeyed with love and awe. No selfish purpose armed his hand, No passion aimed his blow; How loyally he loved his land, Impartial Time shall show. But now the faithful martyr dies, His brave heart beats no more, His soul ascends the equal skies, His earthly course is o’er.