As some sweet thought he left unsung
Were blossoming at last.

Wild weeds grow rank about the place,
A dark, cold spot, and drear;
The dull neglect that marked his life
Has followed even here.

Around shine many a marble shaft
And polished pillars fair,
And strangers stand on Timrod's grave
To praise them, unaware!

"Hold up the glories of thy dead!"
To thine own self be true,
Land that he loved! Come, honor now
This grave that honors you!


The one characteristic above all others that marked the poet's life
was his unfaltering trust, -- the soul's unclouded sky,
a quenchless radiance of blessed sunlight amid the deep darkness
that encompassed him.

As in his poetry there is no false note, no doubtful sentiment,
no selfish grief, even when he sings with breast against the thorn,
so in his life do we find no word of bitterness or moaning or complaining.
Even amid the terrible blight of war and its final utter ruin, prophet-like,
he speaks in faith and hope and courage. His own heart breaking,
and life ebbing, he writes of Spring as the true Reconstructionist,