The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1850-03-28
BUELL. 4 BLANCHARD, PRINTERS.
THE NATIONAL ERA.
WASHINGTON, MARCH 25, 1850.
For the National Era.
lanes II. PERKINS.

As II amid the clOudless noon Of summer
strange liph nings flashed and blasted as they fell,
Came TO a thousand hearts the voice OF humor,
Ringing his sudden unexpected kneL
Hundreds Of those who saw knew him ever
Although unused such sympathy to lend
knowing his life of high and pure endeaEor
Mourned at the tidings of his hspIess end,
And felt that in his death they too had lost friend
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft inferred with their bones"-
Is Shakspeare's wisdom turned to laughter, then,
Since even SANDER dare not raise her tonesf
What means this strong, unanimous expression
OF sorowipg reverence for the holy dead
This longing yearnng which We feel to freshen
Memory's pale gsr'ands round his dying headf
As though such fading flowers could consolation shed
Why was it, when the sudden tidings passed
That Earth had claimed him for her again,
Through the great city Sorrow like blast
Woke wsiing echoes in the hearts Of mem
Power and Fame he never strove to reach,
Nor sought the friendship of the rich and strong,
But with most fearless eioquence Ofspeech
Denounced oppression, custom ri lded long,
UptOlding Truth and Right against the False and Wrong
Around his brows are wreathed no patriot aurels-
No butsber- he, this, Of Monterey;
He fought nations unjust qusrrels,
He never took Geds image for prey,
No selfish purpose ever stained his soul,
Ambitions call he knew but to despise;
The Godlike, the immortal, was his goal
For lower aims he made no compromise;
Esrth's phantom gories never yet enticed
This warrior son Of God and follower Of Christ
But many mother watching the Icing night
Beside the deathbed of her only child
Has felt the heavy weight of woe more light,
Cheered by his voice earnest and so mild;
Many dying man has raised his head,
And felt a tbrob Of human joy once more,
When, tossing his psrched and fevered bed,
He heard that welcome footstep at the door,
And felt Deaths fightful vale less gloomy than before
Alas, that he who lived to blefs mankind
Was forced to struggle with fearful Fate
That nameless tortures rack ed that noble mind,
Till life grew terrible and desolste!
Brave was thy combat with that strange life
And hsro-like thy battle with the gloom
Now the sad night has melted in the morrow,
And through lonely and mysterious doom
Thy Soul has risen up Triumphant from the tomb
He who lived not for glory needs praise;
OF what avail were epitaphs to him7
The words would scarce attract strangers gaze,
And friendly eyes with tears all too dim
oh let marble column rear its head
No brsss nor iron his memorial be-
His fame will live when granite rocks have fed,
When Earth is past, with all her history,
Stamped the archives Of Gods own Eternity.
Ye Western rivers, to his soul so dear,
His pail funeral let your waters be-
And bear him stately to his ocean. bier,
Beneath the surgug pillows of the sea
There amid coral arches let him rest
While tempests sweep unheeded DER the dead
The great never had nobler guest,
Nor Christian hero more fitting bed,
For wide and deep his Soul Ocean Ger his head
These lines unworthy of the name they bear,
Are the expression of heart that owes
More to his noble life and spirit
Than words can measure, or perchance it knows
Which seeing once Father throned above,
Without hope, future, or a bond
Learned from his earnest lips that God is Love-"
The solemn lesson of existence conned,
And like him deems Life less real than that beyond
III. B. b.
Cincinnati, March 10, 1850