  In empty rumor sown to woful ruth, How many reputations pass like chaff, Before Time’s judgment winnowing for Truth Immortal morrow and eternal youth. Recalled for mirth,—remembered with a laugh! Poor fames! that flower and wither with the grass,— Once fondly deemed more durable than brass. Heed well the clarion sounding through the sky, Impartial herald of the Voice of God! Proclaiming to the ages wide abroad The mighty names that were not born to die. Hark! ’tis the centuries’ roll-call, calm and clear,— From thrones of fadeless glory answered, “Here!” By souls supreme whose record is on high.
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