The thorn flower thus upraised its voice: “Thou fortunate old hero, In thee let all the world rejoice, At last _I_ give thee zero! “This warrior, as he reached his goal, Finds me with ready warning To men who fame and glory’s scroll Crave too much for adorning. “To all I fain a song would raise, As from this tomb they sever, That outward pomp and human praise Can make men happy never.” · · · · · The world of men goes blindly on, Deceived by seeming merely; The higher Judge ascends the throne; He, He alone sees clearly. Before the mighty judgment seat, To hear the final sentence, Proud kings and poorest serfs will meet, Relying on repentance. The dead will heed no song of praise, No vain encomium paid them. What will avail thy tuneful lays? Thy prayers alone will aid them! My child, up to this lofty height A God man’s soul hath lifted: “That we on earth may still unite With those who’ve from us drifted.” They who i’ the Faith have found release, And passed away before ye, Cry, “Seek within your heart for peace, Not in this world’s false glory.” Believe me, ’tis a solemn fact, When Christians find interment There’s nothing that will more detract Than Eulogy’s preferment. So in thy song of praise make known How, ’spite of banners flying, Within the tomb, unrobed, alone, A hapless wretch is lying; And he, a sinful mortal, now His honors seeming hateful, Will, trembling in God’s presence, bow, And for thy prayers be grateful. Then to thy beauteous wreath of fame, Of laurel and everlasting, Which to the splendor of his name On the marshal’s tomb thou ’rt casting, Choose one more blossom, meek and still, To soothe earth’s grief its dower, Which may our hearts with comfort fill— That is the passion flower, The symbol of the Cross. When dyes Of dawn the world astonish, And the laurel cries, “Here a hero lies!” This shall to prayer admonish. J. K. H. Thus wrote the general about the Field Marshal. Aspergillum and saber! Elvira was not edified; she had hoped for more appreciation of her martial hymn.