Nathan Hale by William Ordway Partridge One hero dies, a thousand new ones rise, As flowers are sown where perfect blossoms fall, Then quite unknown, the name of Hale now cries. Where duty sounds her silent call; With head erect he moves, and stately pace, To meet an awful doom, no ribald jest Brings scorn or hate to that exalted face, His thoughts are far away, poised and at rest; Now on the scaffold see him turn and bid. Farewell to home and all his heart holds dear, Majestic presence, all men's weakness hid, And all his strength in that one hour made clear, "I have one last regret, that is to give But one poor life, that my own land may live!" American Heritage Library Table of Contents

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