HORACE GREELEY.
91
Through stricken, reverent crowds we bore him home
When winter skies were fair and winds were still!
And for his fame,—while oceans guard our shores
And mountains midway lift their peaks of snow
To the clear azure where the eagle soars;
While peace is sweet, and the world yearns again
To hear the angel-strain, "Good will to men;"
While toil brings honor, virtue vice deplores,
And liberty is precious,—it shall grow,
And the great future with his spirit fill.
When winter skies were fair and winds were still!
And for his fame,—while oceans guard our shores
And mountains midway lift their peaks of snow
To the clear azure where the eagle soars;
While peace is sweet, and the world yearns again
To hear the angel-strain, "Good will to men;"
While toil brings honor, virtue vice deplores,
And liberty is precious,—it shall grow,
And the great future with his spirit fill.
Nov. 29, 1872,
