John Hay

(8 October 1838 – 1 July 1905 / Salem, Indiana)

To Theodore Roosevelt - Poem by John Hay

Son of a sire whose heart beat ever true
To God, to country, and the fireside love
To which returning, like a homing dove,
From each high duty done, he gladly flew,
Complete, yet touched by genius through and through,
The lofty qualities that made him great,
Loved in his home and priceless to the state,
By Heaven's grace are garnered up in you.
Be yours, we pray, the dauntless heart of youth,
The eye to see the humor of the game,
The scorn of lies, the large Batavian mirth;
And, past the happy, fruitful years of fame,
Of sport and work and battle for the truth,
A home not all unlike your home on earth.

Christmas Eve, 1902.


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Read poems about / on: humor, christmas, home, son, work, truth, happy, heaven, heart, god



Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003



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