John Reade

If Homer ne'er had sung; if Socrates
Had never lived in virtue's cause to die;
If the wild chorus of the circling seas
...

As hills seem Alps, when veiled in misty shroud,
Some men seem kings, through mists of ignorance;
Must we have darkness, then, and cloud on cloud,
...

The years through which aught that hath life, O Sun,
Hath watched or felt thy rising, what are they
To those vast æons when, from night to day,
...

Has aught been changed, or is there any more
To tell of what the human heart can feel?
Or is there any phase of woe or weal
...

God help the man who mortgages his life
For patriot dues! Henceforward he is safe
No more. His noblest virtues only chafe
...

Out of the ground I rose; the seed seemed dead,
But lo! a slim green arm pushed through the sod,
And by and by before my maker, God,
...