In her web of illusion that shines to deceive.
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Tis sweet to remember! when storms are abroad,To see in the rainbow the promise of God;The day may be darkened, but far in the west,In vermillion and gold sinks the sun to his rest:With smiles like the morning, he passeth away; 'Thus the beams of delight on the spirit can play,When in calm reminiscence we gather the flowersWhich love scattered round us in happier hours. — Willis Gaylord Clark— The Pleasures of Memory. Cummings’ Encyclopedia. 241 That voice of more than Roman eloquence, which urgedand sustained the Declaration of Independence,—that voice,whose first and whose last accents were for his country, is,in-deed, mute. It will never again rise in defense of the weakagainst popular excitement, and vindicate the majesty oflaw and justice.... The hand, too, which inscribed theDeclaration of Independence, is, indeed,laid low. The moun-tain winds sweep by the narrow tomb, and all around hasthe loneliness of desolation. Yes;Adamsand Jefferson aregone from us forever,—gone, as a sunbeam to revisit its na-tive skies,—gone, as this mortal to put on immortality. —Story—On Jefferson and Adams. ‘Go out beneath the arched heavens, at night, andsay, if you can, ‘There is no God!’ Pronounce that dreadfulblasphemy, and each star above you will reproach theunbroken darkness of your intellect; every voice that floatsupon the night winds, will bewail your utter hopelessnessand folly! Is there no God? Who, then, unrolled the blueseroll, and threw upon its high frontispiece the legiblegleamings of immortality? Who fashioned this yreen earth,with its perpetual rolling waters, and its wide expanse ofislands and of main? Who settled the foundations of themountains? Who paved the heavens with clouds, andattuned, amid the clamor of storms, the voice of thunders,and unchained the lightnings that flash in their gloom?There is a God. All nature declares it in a language tooplain to be misapprehended.”’ Land of the West! though passing brief the record of thineage Thou hast a name that darkens all on history’s wide page. Let all the blasts of fame ring out,—thine shall be loudestfar; Let others boast their satellites,—thou hast the planet-star, Thou hast a name whose characters of light shall ne’erdepart: ’Tis stamp’d upon the dullest brain, and warms the coldestheart, A war-cry fit for any land where freedom’s to be won; Land of the West! it stands alone,—it is thy Washington. England, my heartis truly thine, my loved, my native earth! The land that holds a mother’s grave, and gave that motherbirth. O, keenly sad would be the fate that thrust me from thyshore, And faltering my breath that sighed,—‘Farewell for ever-more!”’
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