"The Revolution's Purse"

ROBERT MORRIS | The Revolution’s Purse

Behold Robert Morris, born of old England’s womb,
Liverpool’s son, sailing to the colonies’ room,
A merchant of success, a trader by fate,
Upon America’s canvas, he’d paint his great slate.

In the throes of revolution, in struggle and strife,
His ledger, his quill, lent the war effort life,
Securing loans, supplying troops, with a most careful hand,
A financier in war’s tumult, upon freedom’s stand.

Stewarding the newborn nation’s wealth,
Crafting systems of finance with stealth,
A signature upon the Declaration, boldly scribed,
In the halls of Constitution, his ideas imbibed.

A bank for the nation, strong central power,
His vision shaped the republic’s dawning hour,
Yet in his prosperity, a looming debt did crawl,
The architect of finance met his downfall.

In the cruel irons of debtors’ prison, he was confined,
A martyr of finance, to misfortune resigned,
Yet, from those depths, his legacy did rise,
In the heart of America, his spirit never dies.

Oh, Robert Morris, the Revolution’s purse,
In your triumph and your trial, we do rehearse,
A reminder of the cost, the sacrifice and pain,
The path of the nation, in your story ingrained.

In your failings and fortunes, a lesson is learned,
In the fire of sacrifice, freedom is earned,
No good deed unpunished, yet still the right path,
In the echoes of history, we hear your epitaph.

From your life, a message, both clear and bright,
In the face of adversity, hold to the right,
Though the world may chastise, and fortunes may wane,
Deedsdone in honor, forever remain.