My first is the sweet diminutive Of a name we love to hear; The name of one — while here we live We find not earth or Heaven can give
A friend more true and dear. My second should bring pride and joy To parent-hearts, alway,— Should bear the fresh soul of the boy
Into the earnest man's employ, And ne'er from honor stray. My whole has ever stood for one Who rears, with toil and care,
Block after block, stone after stone, On city street, or prairie lone, A building plain, or fair. But now the name once honest, stands
For one who has not feared To seek to level with the sands The glorious structure, by the hands Of Washington upreared.
The stealthy fox, the prowling rat, The serpent, Heaven-accursed, The cruel tiger, and the cat, The weasel, and the vampyre bat,
Have all been called my first. My second is a shadowed place Of forest bloom and song, Where mosses creep o'er the rock's stern face,
Vines climb and swing in wildest grace, And a streamlet laughs along. My whole upbore the traitor's crest, And gloried in his crime;
Yet England took him to her breast, Which once received a like brave guest,— Our Arnold, of old time.
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