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GRANT. 
 
 DELIVERED 
 
 REV. MILLER HAGEJVTAN. 
 
 BEFORE THE 
 
 (Brant Birtbba^ a^eociation 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 At The Annual Banquet, 
 APRIL 27, i88g, 
 

 Copyright 
 
 BY 
 
 Miller Hageman. 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR, 
 267 Lewis Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 General W. X. Sherman, 
 
 IN BEHALF OP THE 
 
 (5ran& Brmg of tbe IRcpublic. 
 
(Brant. 
 
 In Life he conqtiered Rebellion. 
 In Death he cemented. Rei^nion. 
 
GRANT. 
 
 POH his couch at dead of night the 
 
 dying conqueror lay, 
 Through the still watches of his sleep 
 
 breathing his life away : 
 When from the shadows of the tomb 
 
 with soft and stealthy tread, 
 There came a silent sentinel and stood 
 
 beside his bed. 
 
i- 
 
 Poised in its bony hand there gleamed a 
 
 keen, unerring dart, 
 The sleepless glitter of whose steel fell 
 
 pointed at his heart : 
 The while as listening there he lay at 
 
 midnight came a call, 
 "Surrender!" and the only terms, are, 
 
 " Unconditional." 
 The stern old warrior started up from out 
 
 his martial dream. 
 As if beyond the picket-lines he saw the 
 
 sword's fierce gleam ; 
 
" Halt ! Stand and give the countersign," 
 
 he gasped with hollow breath, 
 The while the skeleton between its teeth 
 
 ground hoarsely—" Death." 
 "Death?" cried the dauntless warrior 
 
 with sudden burst of scorn, 
 As though he reined his battle-horse 
 
 and heard the bugle-horn : 
 " Death ? What care I for Death, that at 
 
 his call my soul should crouch ? 
 IVe met him at the cannon's mouth, I'll 
 
 meet him on this couch. 
 
 9 
 
Ho, spectre ! drop that lifted hand and 
 
 lay thy summons by, 
 I fling defiance in thy face, Death, I 
 
 will not die ! 
 Give me that shaft of sleepless steel that 
 
 round me once again, 
 From it may flash in words of fire the 
 
 battle of a pen." 
 So spake the chief and from Death's 
 
 clutch he plucked that pen of steel, 
 And traced in trembling characters each 
 
 thunder-bolted peaL 
 
 10 
 
Till from each answering mountain and 
 from each echoing nook, 
 
 The valley of the shadow with the tread 
 of armies shook. 
 
 Mounting his steed at midnight as when 
 'neath that dread sky, 
 
 He rode down in the dark alone to con- 
 quer or to die, 
 
 He sat the pale white horse of death 
 afront the serried line. 
 
 He faced the leaden sleet that swept 
 
 aslant the scarps of pine, 
 11 
 
He saw his blades and banners flash far 
 
 down the dark ravine, 
 Till, plunged in smoke, he seems to fade 
 
 in fancy on the scene. 
 The ugly rents opened and closed about 
 
 him, rank on rank. 
 The bullet left its breath on him, the 
 
 steed beneath him sank, 
 The sharp command, the bristling charge, 
 
 the fort, the sulphurous steeps. 
 The fiery trails, the knee-deep field, the 
 
 trenches' gory heaps : 
 
 12 
 
All, all once more before him passed as 
 
 on his dimming eye, 
 The midnight sun of memory shone o'er 
 
 him from on high. 
 He felt the shadows round him fold their 
 
 chilly winding-sheet, 
 He felt the heart's soft drum-taps for 
 
 the final roll-call beat. 
 He heard the night-watch on the wall 
 
 ticking its low tattoo, 
 So soon to hear the reveille sounding the 
 
 Grand Eeview. 
 
 13 
 
He saw the shadow of his hand as with 
 
 prophetic track 
 It fell across the disk of time and set the 
 
 dial back ; 
 Signing his death-warrant, the while with 
 
 life he still must strive, 
 For that hand had crossed the dead-line 
 
 while yet he was alive. 
 Cold as a dead king's coronet gleams out 
 
 all grandly now, 
 Set with the jewels of his crown those 
 
 beads upon his brow ; 
 
 14 
 
Cold as a figure carved in stone atlirong- 
 
 the marts of men, 
 Propped up by that wliite pillow, that 
 
 hero of the pen. 
 He wrote, but not as poets in the tropics 
 
 of their youth, 
 For there was only time enough for him 
 
 to tell the truth : 
 He told the story simply for future years 
 
 to scan, 
 Too near the judgment of his God to care 
 
 for that of man. 
 
 15 
 
What though each stroke of that sharp 
 
 pen was but a flash of pain ? 
 What though each thought a bolt that 
 
 struck a sphnter from his brain ? 
 What though the weary watcher slept ? 
 
 While Death bent sleepless by, 
 Where honor on misfortune called 'twere 
 
 cowardice to die. 
 Ah ! 'twas not of himself he thought as 
 
 memory came and went, 
 For one there was who sleeplessly as death 
 
 beside him bent ; 
 
 16 
 
And when at length his task was wrought 
 
 as love\s last glance he took, 
 Her image on his lifeless eye still kept 
 
 its living look. 
 Heroic man of iron mould, this modest 
 
 hero dies, 
 With only silence on those lips, that 
 
 rarest of replies ; 
 Too near our eyes to see as yet what 
 
 time shall show at last, 
 His faults were but the shadows that his 
 
 solid virtues cast. 
 
 17 
 
Ignored, rebuked, maligned, displaced, 
 through all that could oppose, 
 
 Up from the bottom to the top that great 
 subaltern rose. 
 
 Till, with three armies in his grasp, he 
 stood at last alone, 
 
 The monarch of the mightiest force that 
 earth hath ever known. 
 
 Himself his own prime-counsellor, with- 
 out one petty whim. 
 
 He knew how to use rules without letting 
 those rules use him • 
 
 18 
 
With but one bright ambition that fired 
 
 his eager ken, 
 Where tyros of the topic art took places, 
 
 — he took men. 
 True to himseh', true to his friends, and 
 
 to his country true, 
 He struck to save that country, and 
 
 where he struck, he slew. 
 In war as terrible as blood, yet tender as 
 
 the child 
 On whom amid the battle-shock so 
 
 lovingly he smiled ; 
 
 19 
 
For though he seemed with visage stern 
 
 to pity grown apart, 
 Benea,th that iron armor beat a soft 
 
 and gentle heart. 
 And when the war was over and treason 
 
 knew its fall, 
 He entered not in triumph the conquered 
 
 capital, 
 But with a magnanimity that history 
 
 shall record, 
 Victor, he took the vanquished hand, but 
 
 scorned to take the sword. 
 
 20 
 
A grand chivalric conqueror, he never 
 
 could forget, 
 Where brothers fought as bitter foes 
 
 they fell as brothers yet ; 
 And when as comrades hand to hand 
 
 they bore him on his bier. 
 The blue and gray lost color in the 
 
 crystal of a tear. 
 Fair garden of the grounded arms, 
 
 through thy lute-fingered leaves 
 The northern and the southern wind 
 
 shall meet, as summer weaves 
 
 21 
 
From many a willow's muffled harp a 
 
 chaplet wet with dew, 
 While heaven shall give its rosemary to 
 
 whom earth gave its rue. 
 Cut off in that far country to which his 
 
 soul hath passed, 
 Where the dead get no despatches and 
 
 the wires are down at last ; 
 No courier can call him back, no orders 
 
 reach him now, 
 No martinet can pluck the stars that 
 
 blossom on that brow. 
 
 23 
 
Dead Immortal ! take thy crown ; thy 
 
 martial dream is done, 
 Thine was the greatest battle that was 
 
 ever waged or won : 
 Wrought by indomitable will in lines of 
 
 adamant, 
 Still there, as if defying death, shall stand 
 
 the name of — Grant. 
 
 23 
 

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