“_Ah, me! how dark the discipline of pain, Were not the suffering followed by the sense Of infinite rest and infinite release! This is our consolation; and again A great soul cries to us in our suspense: ‘I came from martyrdom unto this peace._’” LONGFELLOW. XXVII. I. O thou, my country, ope thine eyes Toward what the Future holds for thee! See the brave stripling rise From lowliest hut and poverty, From stair to stair; Nor hardly fix his footsteps there, Ere he another round Doth upward bound; Still, step by step, to higher stair Forward he leaps, Broader his vision sweeps, Till he the loftiest summit gain,-- A people’s hope to further and maintain. II. But lo! as oft befalls the great, The wise and good, There for a moment poised he stood,-- Then passed beyond the gazing crowd Within the folded cloud. Wasted by weary pains, His pale remains Now lie in state, Swathed in his bloody shroud; Peoples and kingdoms bathed in tears. Hear’st thou the welcome greet his ears, As he his holier throne doth take? This brave of fifty manly years, Dies he not now for thy dear sake? III. O follow, thou, his leading far, Be thou thyself the morning star, Beaming thy glories round the world, His name emblazoned on thy flag unfurled! What speak the myriad bells, Tolling this day their mournful knells? “Ne’er may our weight be swung, Never our iron tongue Slavery’s base might extol In town or capitol; But o’er a people brave and free Ring out in happier symphony Garfield and Liberty!” End of Project Gutenberg's Sonnets and Canzonets, by A. Bronson Alcott