A cry from the gloom of the western wilds! A pleading, outstretched hand! "O who will give us the white man's book, The trail to the spirit land?" 'Twas the death wail of the Indian race, And longer, louder grew, Till the winds caught up the weird refrain And echoed, "Who—O, Who?" And methinks that heaven took up the cry Around the glassy sea, And whispers leaped from lip to lip— "Who will the hero be?" And on our shore the angels looked And wept in sympathy, But none could find the man to go Till God said, "Jason Lee." Then Freedom cried with clarion voice, "Where is the soul so bold To tame yon howling wilderness With its buried hope and gold? Who will, for me, unfurl the flag For the millions yet to be?" And Old Glory seemed to vibrate With the name of Jason Lee. Again the voice of heaven called, "O who will go for me, And consecrate a lonely spot In that empire by the sea, For a stately Concord of the West— A Salem yet to be?" And Heroism answered back, "The wife of Jason Lee." Anon a temple to our God Arose majestic'ly Beside the silent camping ground Where both sleep peacefully. Among a galaxy of stars, Whose shall the honor be? And some said this and some said that, But God said, "Jason Lee." In Old Willamette's hall of fame, First shall her founder be— Ah! now methinks I see him stand On heaven's balcony— So big in body, heart, and brain, And modest dignity— The prince of western pioneers— The stalwart Jason Lee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOLUTIONS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE FUNERAL OF YOUTH: THRENODY by RUPERT BROOKE ELEGY: 18. LOVES PROGRESS by JOHN DONNE BLACK SAMSON OF BRANDYWINE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A SNOW-STORM; SCENE IN A VERMONT WINTER by CHARLES GAMAGE EASTMAN THE VANISHING RED by ROBERT FROST |