Greater than Raleigh, for, to matchless deeds,
Which all the tides of time cannot efface,
He brought a love, broader than all the creeds,
And wide as the misfortunes of his race.

England's grim prisons, with a thousand wrongs, Befoul'd a Christian era. Bought with gold! When martyr'd Mercy wore a crown of thongs And, in the market, prison rights were sold!

When creditors, without remorse, preferr'd
Writs against debtors;-into loathsome cells,
Hurl'd indigent insolvents, undeterr'd

By justice, in a land of Sabbath bells.

Till loom'd a Hercules in heaven's might,
This charter'd liberty from power to wrench
To slay the hydra with the club of Right
And cleanse the Augean stable of its stench.
One day an Englishman call'd at the Fleet

To find a missing friend. The answer came
Died of the nauseous plague! O, misery meet
For Dante's hell! But England's all the shame!

Relentlessly into a small-pox ward,

With air malignant, this proud man was hurl'd,

An artist gentle, held in sweet regard,

Whose works survive, to charm a cultur'd world.

That visitor was Oglethorpe. To him

There came a dream in that revealing hour,

A vision, till across the waters dim,

He saw a splendid project come to flower.

Beyond the wild Atlantic's wandering wave,
O'er fair Savannah's bluffs of emerald green,

In beckoning beauty's silvery sign, "I save"
Rose Georgia's star, resplendent and serene.

From lofty heights, he meekly stoop'd to lift
The lowly up; in sacrifice he made

Both of his means and of himself a gift
With which the debtor's debt was doubly paid.

To his immortal honor be it told

That, in an age which to indulgence ran,
He scorn'd to worship at a shrine of gold
Or give to mammon what belong'd to man.

Prince of philanthropy! Hope's morning star Whose beams to thousands brought a better dayHe pointed not in safety from afar

But, in the glorious vanguard, led the way.

Equally just to red man and to white

The Indians lov'd him; and, in truceful years,

No dread of massacre disturb'd the night,

No bead of crimson fleck'd the lone frontiers.

When came the hosts of Spain, in war's grim track,
Beneath defiant flags,-ere set of sun,
With Jovine thunderbolts, he drove them back
And gave to us our Georgia Marathon.

Humanitarian, soldier, seer and sage,

Thy gentleness indeed hath made thee great
Worthy to live on history's storied page
The glorious founder of an Empire State.

Till falls our Constitution's matchless arch
And in the West our latest sun has set-
While unborn millions through milleniums march,
Georgia forbids imprisonment for debt!

For others, not for self-this was the creed,
That blaz'd upon his knighthood's burnish'd shield
This, too, be Georgia's high device, to lead
Her conquering legions upon every field!

O, Calvary, let thy beacon light still burn!
To darken'd councils, thy pure radiance lend!
That all in life's perplexities, may learn:

The Christ-like model is the debtor's friend.

WILLIAM MCINTOSH.

[Since the following poem was written an appropriate marker has been placed over the grave of this long neglected patriot by the D. A. R.]

Ye gods! No stone for McIntosh?

To bear a storied name,

Blown to the winds of every land,
By all the trumps of Fame?

O, Georgia! such neglect of one
Who help'd to set you free,
Reflects no passing cloud on him,
But, O, it does on thee!

Doom'd, 'mid the rafters of his home,
By savage torches fir'd,

To groan, till wrapp'd in seething flames,

His golden heart expir'd.

For what? Because to Georgia whites

He gave at Indian Springs,

Of all the Creek's remaining lands,

A present meet for kings.