"STAND, like an anvil," when the stroke,
Of stalwart men, falls fierce and fast;
Storms, but more deeply, root the oak,
Whose brawny arms embrace the blast.
"Stand like an anvil," when the sparks
Fly far and wide, a fiery shower;
Virtue and truth must still be marks,
Where malice proves its want of power.
"Stand like an anvil," when the bar,
Lies, red and glowing, on its breast;
Duty shall be life's leading star,
And conscious innocence, its rest.
"Stand like an anvil," when the sound
Of pond'rous hammers pains the ear;
Thine, but the still and stern rebound
Of the great heart, that cannot fear.
"Stand like an anvil;" noise and heat
Are born of earth, and die with time;
The soul, like God, its source and seat,
Is solemn, still, serene, sublime.
RIVERSIDE, ST. BARNABAS DAY, 1849.