THE OLD FORT.
Two hundred years the fort has stood
Gathered the moss on stone and wood
Its vigils kept from sun to sun,
At even fired the signal gun.
Two hundred years! And yet the same
Of which we read in storied fame;
Proudly it stands, as if of yore
It felt the weight of years no more.
Two hundred years! And overhead
The same broad roof of blue is spread;
But mortal man has run his race,
And others rise and fill his place.
Two hundred years! Still drifting on
'Neath winter's wind and summer's sun;
The years they come and go away,
Silently bringing eternity's day.