The soul of man to seek for something higher—
Anhungered for a more celestial bread
Than that wherewith his earthly life is fed—
And faith was kindled here, and patriot fire!
Yea; from this sacred pile, in days gone by,
Brave men, to duty nobly dedicate,
Went forth to strive against despotic fate—
Content for liberty to live—or die.
Some came not back; but some returned, victorious,—
Needing nor badge nor ribbon on the breast,—
To find here by the little Church their rest:
Heroes and martyrs lowly—yet how glorious! . . .
Healed of all hurt, emparadised afar
Though they abide, yet to our reverent sight,
About their graves there lingers still a light
Which is not as the light of moon or star;
And very peaceful after stormy days,
And sturdy as the antique oaks remain,
Which sentinelled the burial of Wayne,—
Illustrious beyond the need of praise,—
