On His Eightieth Birthday

PREACHER of a liberal creed,
Pioneer in Freedom’s cause ;
Ever prompt to take the lead
In behalf of saner laws,
Still your speech persuasive flows
As the brooks of Helicon.
You have earned a fair repose,
Thomas Wentworth Higginson !

You have never stooped to fear
Taunt of opulence or place,
Smug convention’s frosty sneer,
Fashion’s elegant grimace.
In your youthful vision pure
Truth a constellation shone.
Truth is still your cynosure,
Thomas Wentworth Higginson.

Throbbing with indignant zeal,
Lawlessly you sought to save
From the law’s relentless seal
Burns the fugitive, a slave.
Your indictment came to naught,
For some flaw was hit upon.
Time is an enshrining court,
Thomas Wentworth Higginson.

Wounded where the bravest fell
To redeem your fellow men ;
Working by the double spell
Of your eloquence and pen ;
Now that eighty years are scored,
Busy souls may pause to con.
’T was the service of the Lord,
Thomas Wentworth Higginson.

You have printed many lines
To inspire an eager age.
Counsel wholesome as our pines,
Timely essays keen and sage.
Memories of “ Oldport Days ”
Which we love to dwell upon,
With your “ Cheerful Yesterdays,”
Thomas Wentworth Higginson.

Eighty years are but a crown
When the soul is true and kind,
And sparse locks of grizzled brown
Grace a vigorous active mind.
Soldier, patriot, and seer,
Writer, scholar, gentleman,
To the native heart more dear
For the gauntlet which you ran
In pursuit of many a goal
Which the creeping world condemned;
Aspiration kept your soul,
And you feared not to offend.
Lo! amid your autumn leaves
What men scorned now truth appears,
And your dreams are bearing sheaves
In the harvest of your years.

Preacher of a liberal creed,
Pioneer in Freedom’s cause ;
Ever prompt to take the lead
In behalf of saner laws,
Still your speech persuasive flows
As the brooks of Helicon.
You have earned a fair repose,
Thomas Wentworth Higginson !