Felicia Hemans

Anonymous, "To Mrs. Hemans" Ladies' Garland [Harper's Ferry] 4 (15 September 1827) 56.

Pride of our age, thy golden chords,
Touch'd by seraphic fire,
Breathe o'er our hearts the burning words
That sweep along our lyre:
And while we live, thy lofty strain,
Though Time should hasten by,
Is bound around us as a chain,
It is not of the things that die.

What though Atlantic's foam-crown'd wave
Rolls far between our land,
Encircling, in its folds, the grave
Of many an ardent band:
Yet o'er its blasts, and o'er their moan,
Thy lyre is heard to sigh
Its breathings for our land and home,
"They are not of the things that die."

The "pilgrim spirits" watch the swell,
As o'er the wave 'tis flung,
And over sea, and hill, and dell,
Thy burning thoughts are sung:
All, all our aspirations sent,
Our prayers which rise on high,
Are with thy peace and welfare blent,
"They are not of the things that die."

Go on, and add to Glory's wreath
More garlands such as thine,
Dispel the clouds and chase the grief
From brows where peace should shine,
Till thou shalt form a crown, which Fame,
Will brightly beaming eye,
Will place above thy lofty name,
Among the things that never die.