James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
March 7Ichabod
By John Greenleaf Whittier (18071892)
S
Which once he wore!
The glory from his gray hairs gone
For evermore!
A snare for all!
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath,
Befit his fall!
When he who might
Have lighted up and led his age,
Falls back in night.
A bright soul driven,
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark,
From hope and Heaven?
Insult him now;
Nor brand with deeper shame his dim,
Dishonored brow.
From sea to lake,
A long lament, as for the dead,
In sadness make.
Save power remains—
A fallen angel’s pride of thought,
Still strong in chains.
The soul has fled;
When faith is lost, when honor dies,
The man is dead!
To his dead fame;
Walk backward, with averted gaze,
And hide the shame!