Son of a sire whose heart beat ever true <br />To God, to country, and the fireside love <br />To which returning, like a homing dove, <br />From each high duty done, he gladly flew, <br />Complete, yet touched by genius through and through, <br />The lofty qualities that made him great, <br />Loved in his home and priceless to the state, <br />By Heaven's grace are garnered up in you. <br />Be yours, we pray, the dauntless heart of youth, <br />The eye to see the humor of the game, <br />The scorn of lies, the large Batavian mirth; <br />And, past the happy, fruitful years of fame, <br />Of sport and work and battle for the truth, <br />A home not all unlike your home on earth. <br /> <br />Christmas Eve, 1902.<br /><br />John Hay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-theodore-roosevelt/
