POSTHUMOUS
We may praise the workmanship of the skillful architect,
When the fabric that he rears
Hath withstood the wear of years,
And the battles of the elements, its symmetry unwrecked;
But when with an interest new from its grandeur we may turn,
Of the magic hand that wrought
From the outlines of a thought,
To completeness so colossal and symmetrical, to learn,
If a record we may find, often 'tis the message solemn
That the mind of sterling worth
Hath been summoned earth to earth,
And the hand is only dust that reared massive aisle and column.
When the fabric that he rears
Hath withstood the wear of years,
And the battles of the elements, its symmetry unwrecked;
But when with an interest new from its grandeur we may turn,
Of the magic hand that wrought
From the outlines of a thought,
To completeness so colossal and symmetrical, to learn,
If a record we may find, often 'tis the message solemn
That the mind of sterling worth
Hath been summoned earth to earth,
And the hand is only dust that reared massive aisle and column.
We may laud the sculptor's art gazing on his work immortal,
Where on dome and pedestal
His illustrious statues dwell,
Or in form majestic raised to adorn some marble portal;
From the triumphs of his art, to the artisan we turn,
Of the magic hand that wrought
From the outlines of a thought,
To a symmetry and stateliness so marvelous, to learn,
Oh, how often do we find that for years before our time
That proud chisel gathered rust
And that hand was only dust,
And to ashes burned the ardent flame of genius so sublime!
Where on dome and pedestal
His illustrious statues dwell,
Or in form majestic raised to adorn some marble portal;
From the triumphs of his art, to the artisan we turn,
Of the magic hand that wrought
From the outlines of a thought,
To a symmetry and stateliness so marvelous, to learn,
Oh, how often do we find that for years before our time
That proud chisel gathered rust
And that hand was only dust,
And to ashes burned the ardent flame of genius so sublime!
We may read the author's lore, all our spirits filling
With the grandeur of his theme
And the beauty of his dream,
With a strange unfathomed power all our being thrilling;
Then with reverence enkindled from the printed page we turn,
Of the mind with truth afire,
Of the genius we admire,
With the grandeur of his theme
And the beauty of his dream,
With a strange unfathomed power all our being thrilling;
Then with reverence enkindled from the printed page we turn,
Of the mind with truth afire,
Of the genius we admire,
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