(JAMES BRAIDWOOD: Died June 22, 1861.) NOT at the battle front, -- writ of in story; Not on the blazing wreck steering to glory; Not while in martyr-pangs soul and flesh sever, Died he -- this Hero new; hero forever. No pomp poetic crowned, no forms enchained him, No friends applauding watched, no foes arraigned him: Death found him there, without grandeur or beauty, Only an honest man doing his duty: Just a God-fearing man, simple and lowly, Constant at kirk and hearth, kindly as holy: Death found -- and touched him with finger in flying: -- Lo! he rose up complete -- hero undying. Now, all men mourn for him, lovingly raise him Up from his life obscure, chronicle, praise him; Tell his last act, done midst peril appalling, And the last word of cheer from his lips falling; Follow in multitudes to his grave's portal; Leave him there, buried in honor immortal. So many a Hero walks unseen beside us, Till comes the supreme stroke sent to divide us. Then the LORD calls His own, -- like this man, even, Carried, Elijah-like, fire-winged, to heaven. |