His Old Right Hand Lay Nerveless, Listless,

There Is A Budding Tomorrow In Midnight.

In The Long Vista Of The Years To Roll,\ Let Me Not See My Country's Honor Fade;\ Oh! Let Me See Our Land Retain Its Soul!\ Her Pride In Freedom, And Not Freedom's Shade.

Thou, Silent Form, Dost Tease Us Out Of Thought As Doth Eternity.

When It Is Moving On Luxurious Wings, The Soul Is Lost In Pleasant Smotherings.

Was It A Vision Or A Waking Dream? Fled Is That Music--do I Wake Or Sleep?