  (David Kennison died in Chicago February 24th, 1852, aged 115 years, 3 months and 17 days. Veteran of the Revolution.) David Kennison is here born at Kingston in the year Seventeen thirty-seven and it’s nineteen sixteen now, Dumped the tea into the harbor, saw Cornwallis’ career End at Yorktown with the sullen thunder written on his brow. Was at West Point when the traitor Arnold gave up the fort, Saw them hang Major Andre for a spy and his due. Settled down in Sackett’s Harbor for a rest of a sort, Till I crossed the western country in the year forty-two. And I saw Chicago rising in the ten years to come, Ere I passed in the fifties to the peace of the dead. Now where is there a city in the whole of Christendom Where such roar is and such walking is around a grave’s head? Oh, ’twas fighting as a soldier in the wars of the land; And ’twas giving and living to make the people free That kept me past a century an oak to withstand The heat and snow and weevils that break down a tree. There were other dead around me with a slab to mark When they heaped the final pillow for my honor’s meed. Now the lovers stopping curiously in Lincoln Park Look at the bronze tablet on my boulder and read: How I fought at Long Island and fought at White Plains— What does it mean you lovers who scan what is scored On the tablet on my boulder?—Why the task remains To make the torch brighter and to keep clean the sword. Go labor for the future. Go make the cities great: There are other realms to conquer for the men to be. For it’s toil and it’s courage that solve a soul’s fate, And it’s giving and living that make a people free! |
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