Whete Fame Is Sure By Amos Russel Wells

The hollow-sounding trump of fame
May never magnify your name,
Nor even in the small renown
Of any close-encircled town
May men exult your praises high
To fill a little, local sky.
But evermore and evermore,
To Time’s remotest, firmest shore,
Though all the storms of life may beat,
Your fame will find a safe retreat,
A haven sure and undefiled,
Within the memory of your child.
Ah, let it be your constant care
That this your fame may all be fair,
That only what is kind and wise
Your child may thus immortalize,
And carry through eternity
The parent you would like to be!