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Robert E. Lee.

By Father Ryan.
Go, glory! and forever guard
     Our chieftain's hallowed dust;
And honor! keep eternal ward;
     And fame! be this thy trust.

Go! with your bright, emblazoned scroll,
     And tell the years to be,
The first of names that flash your roll
     Is ours—great Robert Lee.

Lee wore the gray! Since then
     'Tis right's and honor's hue;
He honored it—that man of men—
     And wrapped it round the true.

Dead! but his spirit breathes;
     Dead! but his heart is ours;
Dead! but his sunny, sad land wreathes
     His crown with tears for flowers.

A statue for his tomb!
     Mould it of marble white—
For wrong, a sceptre of death and doom—
     An angel of hope and right.

But Lee has a thousand graves
     In a thousand hearts, I ween,
And tear-drops fall from our eyes in waves
     That will keep his memory green.

Ah! Muse, you dare not claim
     A nobler man than he;
Nor nobler man hath less of blame,
     Nor blameless man hath purer name,
Nor purer name hath grander fame,
     Nor fame—another Lee.

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