By tearing down your statue, they were sure
They could erase your spirit from our hearts
And render thus their bright blue lie secure--
The tale where all the liberating parts
Were theirs. They practiced cheap, dishonest arts
To bleed away the glory that impressed
Those of your time. But, when they cast their darts,
They struck a bogus target. I suggest
That you weren’t hurt at all. You have what’s best:
Your conscience was demanding, and is clear.
In the external you did not invest.
Beaten, your courage didn’t disappear.
We take you as our emblem still today,
O Father of a Country Clad in Gray.
This piece was previously published here.