This Poem

This Poem

All hail the chief of noble thought,
Our dear Miss Laura Gait,
All hail her for greater deeds,
All hail her for the cause she pleads.

Mighty in works, might in name,
For future generations a lasting fame;
She who defied to spurn her cause,
With a welkin ring all applause.

Who could she be but Laura Galt,
With a queenly walk, a queenly thought;
Why should nations not revere
A dame so grand, that has no fear?

To all people this story unfold,
Yes, crown her for what she has told;
Yes, down the ages history will show
The names of her kind the world to know.

Oh, Kentucky, grand old state,
But grander is she who thraldom hate;
By her silence she was known,
By the wicked way she has overthrown.

Our dear Miss Laura Galt,
This story of you was dearly bought;
But go on in your womanly way,
Cheer boys, cheer you who wore the gray.

Pearls and diamonds, mountains of gold,
To you has no equal to behold;
In merit, in worth, in virtue true,
This poem was lovingly written for you.
None

When your noonday sun come and go,
Your flowers of love all aglow,
This shall shine ever for you
By a boy of gray—not by the blue.

Should the chances ever to meet
How proudly we should—thee to greet,
But fate does not pass this way
For a boy of sixty who wore the gray.
None

But still the cause you pursued.
Marching through Georgia does not intrude;
But joy await thee in after years,
Full of pleasure and not of tears.

Time rolls on—in peace we live,
With all mankind—a God to give,
All in due season forever to be
Your race to run throughout eternity.

Thou art a jewel of today,
Reverenced by those who wore the gray;
Yes, we shall crown thee to be sure
While money evils can not allure.

This to you is a sacred trust,
Though your banner trailed in the dust;
Stand firm your eloquence to sway,
Which are cherished by the boys in gray.

A crown of glory shall be thine,
On and on to the end of time;
Virtue, knowledge and honor too,
May God be with your journey through.

Oh yes, our dear Miss Laura,
Happiness to greet you on the morrow;
On to the eventide of life,
Where the evergreens ever blissful rife.

In reunion at your lovely home
We trust to find you not a drone;
A courtly bow. a clasp of hand,
Shall we be with you to the promised land.

Item Information help

  • Item ID
    bsvg200906
  • Genre
    broadsides
  • Illustrated
  • DCMI Type
    Still Image
  • Extent
    16.5 cm x 14 cm
  • Title
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