Our strength the clustered seasons tax,-- For him new life they mean; Like rods around the lictor's axe They keep him bright and keen. The wise, the brave, the strong, we know,-- We mark them here or there, But he,--we roll our eyes, and lo! We find him everywhere! With truth's bold cohorts, or alone, He strides through error's field; His lance is ever manhood's own, His breast is woman's shield. Count not his years while earth has need Of souls that Heaven inflames With sacred zeal to save, to lead,-- Long live our dear Saint James! WELCOME TO THE CHICAGO COMMERCIAL CLUB January 14, 1880 CHICAGO sounds rough to the maker of verse; One comfort we have--Cincinnati sounds worse; If we only were licensed to say Chicago! But Worcester and Webster won't let us, you know. No matter, we songsters must sing as we can; We can make some nice couplets with Lake Michigan, And what more resembles a nightingale's voice, Than the oily trisyllable, sweet Illinois? Your waters are fresh, while our harbor is salt, But we know you can't help it--it is n't your fault; Our city is old and your city is new, But the railroad men tell us we're greener than you. You have seen our gilt dome, and no doubt you've been told That the orbs of the universe round it are rolled; But I'll own it to you, and I ought to know best, That this is n't quite true of all stars of the West. You'll go to Mount Auburn,--we'll show you the track,-- And can stay there,--unless you prefer to come back; And Bunker's tall shaft you can climb if you will, But you'll puff like a paragraph praising a pill. You must see--but you have seen--our old Faneuil Hall, Our churches, our school-rooms, our sample-rooms, all; And, perhaps, though the idiots must have their jokes, You have found our good people much like other folks. There are cities by rivers, by lakes, and by seas, Each as full of itself as a cheese-mite of cheese; And a city will brag as a game-cock will crow Don't your cockerels at home--just a little, you know? But we'll crow for you now--here's a health to the boys, Men, maidens, and matrons of fair Illinois, And the rainbow of friendship that arches its span From the green of the sea to the blue Michigan! AMERICAN ACADEMY CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION MAY 26, 1880 SIRE, son, and grandson; so the century glides; Three lives, three strides, three foot-prints in the sand; Silent as midnight's falling meteor slides Into the stillness of the far-off land; How dim the space its little arc has spanned! See on this opening page the names renowned Tombed in these records on our dusty shelves, Scarce on the scroll of living memory found, Save where the wan-eyed antiquarian delves; Shadows they seem; ab, what are we ourselves? Pale ghosts of Bowdoin, Winthrop, Willard, West, Sages of busy brain and wrinkled brow, Searchers of Nature's secrets unconfessed, Asking of all things Whence and Why and How-- What problems meet your larger vision now?