118
VERMONT
Years leave their work half-done; like men, alas!
With sheaves ungathered to their graves they pass,
And are forgotten What they strive to do
Lives for a while in memory of a few;
Then over all Oblivion's waters flow—
The Years are buried in the long ago!
But when a Century dies, what room is there for tears?
Rather in solemn exaltation let us come,
With roll of drum
(Not muffled as in woe),
With blare of bugles, and the liquid flow
Of silver clarions, and the long appeal
Of the clear trumpets ringing peal on peal;
With clash of bells, and hosts in proud array,
To pay meet homage to its burial day!
For its proud work is done. Its name is writ
Where all the ages that come after it
Shall read the eternal letters, blazoned high
On the blue dome of the impartial sky.
'What ruthless fate can darken its renown,
Or dim the lustre of its starry crown?
On mountain-peaks of Time each Century stands alone;
And each, for glory or for shame, hath reaped what it hath sown!
With sheaves ungathered to their graves they pass,
And are forgotten What they strive to do
Lives for a while in memory of a few;
Then over all Oblivion's waters flow—
The Years are buried in the long ago!
But when a Century dies, what room is there for tears?
Rather in solemn exaltation let us come,
With roll of drum
(Not muffled as in woe),
With blare of bugles, and the liquid flow
Of silver clarions, and the long appeal
Of the clear trumpets ringing peal on peal;
With clash of bells, and hosts in proud array,
To pay meet homage to its burial day!
For its proud work is done. Its name is writ
Where all the ages that come after it
Shall read the eternal letters, blazoned high
On the blue dome of the impartial sky.
'What ruthless fate can darken its renown,
Or dim the lustre of its starry crown?
On mountain-peaks of Time each Century stands alone;
And each, for glory or for shame, hath reaped what it hath sown!
V.
But this—the one that gave thee birth
A hundred years ago, O beauteous mother!
This mighty Century had a mightier brother,
Who from the watching earth
Passed but last year! Twin-born indeed were they—
For what are twelve months to the womb of time
Pregnant with ages?—Hand in hand they climbed
With clear, young eyes uplifted to the stars;
With great, strong souls that never stopped for bars,
A hundred years ago, O beauteous mother!
This mighty Century had a mightier brother,
Who from the watching earth
Passed but last year! Twin-born indeed were they—
For what are twelve months to the womb of time
Pregnant with ages?—Hand in hand they climbed
With clear, young eyes uplifted to the stars;
With great, strong souls that never stopped for bars,
