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Tom Green is no more ! lov'd and honor'd he lies,
Near his home by the murmuring river— In the soil he sav'd, 'neath his own Southern skies, Where praises from lips yet unborn shall arise,
And bless him forever and ever. There let him sleep on, undisturb'd in repose,
And cease for the hero to sigh— Life's morning was honor—in greatness it rose, 'Twas a sunset of splendor, that life at its close,
He died as a soldier should die.
O'er his hallow'd remains let no monument shine,
To tell of the chieftain beneath it, His requiem hymn'd by the sorrow-toned pine, And wildly around it the jessamine twine,
And flowers, bright flowers enwreathe it; Then silently night-skies their soft dews will shed
On the spring'-flowers that garland his grave— One generous sigh for the bosom that bled, One generous tear for the fate of the dead,
The noble, the true and the brave.
His laurels were pure, and his honor unstained,
He lov'd not war's crimson-dyed pall, His nature was peace while the olive remained— Refus'd then the long-baited lion unchain'd—
Tom Green was then greater than all. Affection and love was the pulse of his breast,
Ever quick at humanity's call— The widow and orphan his charities bless'd, The friend of the homeless, the poor and distress'd,
Tom Green was the idol of all.
Galveston, Texas, May 28, 1864. |
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