Finis Coronat Opus

Away, away, the river runs O’er verdant fields, ‘neath rising sun, From mountain’s peak or cavern hall At last, from rocky cliff to fall. ‘Mid forests green, and timber old, ‘Neath aspens clothed in leaves of gold Along it flows, the lively stream, To water well where drought has been. Though Time may fell the woodlands deep, And slow beat down the mountain peak, Yet river’s flow may yet remain, Alive to make the earth again. Photo taken at Watson's Mill State Park, GA

See! yonder hint of flick’ring light Across the barren field of death? ’Tis candle, lit by young lad bright To write to those whom he has left. ‘Ere this dread war had yet begun, That fellow there had land and wealth And left it all behind him, gone Abroad to face the hand of Death. And we, in this dark trench of earth Are meant to slay those weary souls Who have, as we, their feasts, and mirth,  And fam’lies young, and fathers old. Take heed, you rulers of great lands Where forth you send your sons to die; Why thus must they, with sword in hand, In strange ground foreign ever lie?

The ebb and flow of glimm’ring tide, Reflecting rays of sun, Creeps onward, its display of light Awak’ning shores of dun. It brightly gleams as noonday comes To clothe the earth in heat, And waters cool, and green sea-foam Relieve worn trav’ller’s feet. For ages long, the sea shall beat That coastline, that same land,  And sun reflect from ocean’s peaks That crash upon the sand. Photograph taken at Mount Pleasant, SC

How glorious doth the Sun Sink low at end of day, In crimson rob-ed splendor borne Past dark horizon’s shade. How brightly did he shine At midday’s zenith tall; The earth below, the fields of kine, Caught up in brilliance, all. Then westward on he marched To eventide, so slow; The end of day is coming, hark! The darkness, how it grows. Yet morning soon will come Again, bathed in his glow; The land will wake, and fresh and warm  Shall greet the dawn anew. Photo taken at Mount Pleasant, SC

How long has ancient oak there stood In quiet field of green Where casts its shade o’er soil good That rich with life has been? What great events have witness-ed The boughs ‘neath which now play The children of the goodly laird Who lieth in the grave? What tales could tell this mighty oak Of valor, strength, and might, Of glorious words in courage spoke That hastened heathens’ flight? And now yon weathered branches spread O’er quiet, peaceful scene; What deeds were done in past days dead Live on in mem’ries’ dreams. Photo of live oak in Hampton Park, Charleston, SC.