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 This Little Booklet Touches on the 
 Inner Life of Washington 
 
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Copyright, 1915, 
 
 BY 
 
 H. C. Carliste. 
 
 FEB II 1915 
 
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 PRESS OF JUDD & DETWEILER. INC. 
 WASHINGTON, D, C. 
 
 )CI.A394745 
 
 
Our Nation honors everywhere. 
 
 In her remotest parts, 
 The First in war, the First in peace, 
 
 The First in all our hearts, 
 And yet would add still greater fame 
 To Washington's immortal name. 
 
 The old Potomac's waters still 
 
 In slow procession sweep, 
 Unconsciously and noiselessly, 
 
 By where his ashes sleep — 
 Where sleeps until the Judgment dawn, 
 In peace, the dust of Washington. 
 
By the side of the silver Potomac, 
 Where his waters flow silently on, 
 
 Is the spot set apart 
 
 In America's heart 
 As the dearest the sun smiles upon — 
 Here the flowers still bloom in the garden, 
 And the grasses still grow at our feet 
 
 In the fashion that they 
 
 Grew in Washington's day, 
 When he lived in this quiet retreat. 
 
Here the world's greatest human exemplar 
 Sought repose in the calmtides of life, 
 
 Hid away from the cares 
 
 Of the Nation's affairs, 
 Snuggled in from confusion and strife — 
 In the sweet, rustic stillness of nature, 
 With her ways so inhumanly odd. 
 
 Like the Psalmist of old, 
 
 Did he oftentimes hold 
 Sweet communion with Nature and God. 
 
Hence, the buildings and grounds of Mount Vernon, 
 And the trees and the flowers and all. 
 
 And the pure atmosphere 
 
 Of the place everywhere, 
 Speak the greatness — we love to recall — 
 Of a mind most resplendent and loyal. 
 Of a heart filled with patience and love, 
 
 Of a spirit on fire 
 
 With an innate desire 
 To obey every call from above. 
 
Not a call ever came from his country 
 To which he did not gladly respond, 
 
 And when came the last call 
 
 From the Father of All 
 He was ready for Heaven's beyond ; 
 But his beautiful home at Mount Vernon 
 Still is ours to have and to hold — 
 
 May the footfalls of Time 
 
 On this treasure sublime 
 Fall more tenderly, as it grows old. 
 
When the ages and centuries crumble 
 The Old Mansion to ashes and dust, 
 And the little brick room 
 Guarding Washington's tomb 
 Is dissolved by the rains and the rust, 
 Will his character, spotless and perfect- 
 As eternal as Calvary's scars — 
 In the sweet by-and-by, 
 With the angels on high. 
 Ever shine, on and on, like the stars. 
 
And our wonderful Capitol Building, 
 In the city of beautiful fame, 
 
 On the Capitol Hill, 
 
 Is more national still 
 Than the worshipful Washington name. 
 Even tho' it expands with the Nation, 
 More majestic, imposing, and grand, 
 
 It has mightily grown 
 
 From the same corner-stone 
 That George Washington sealed with his hand. 
 
So perfect in her purity, 
 
 So gentle and so good, 
 Her whole life was an uplift to 
 
 The Nation's womanhood — 
 The world loves more, as time moves on. 
 The sweet name, ^Martha Washington. 
 
 She, helpmeet of the First in war. 
 
 Wife of the First in peace, 
 Queen of the First in all our hearts. 
 
 Shall never, never cease 
 To live in memory, on and on, 
 The better half of Washington. 
 
 — H. C. Carlisle. 
 
In all our great America, 
 
 Or o'er the ocean's foam, 
 There is no place like Washington's 
 
 Mount \"ernon ''Home, Sweet Home." 
 
 39 
 
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