It was she who established on Georgia soil Wingate honor and Wingate toil When John and his father’s neighbors stood At swords’ points over a county feud And only ill-fortune and he were friends. —They prophesied her a dozen ends, Seeking new ground for a broken man Where only the deer and the rabbit ran And the Indian arrow harried both, But she held her word and she kept her troth, Cleared the forest and tamed the wild And gave the breast to the new-born child While the painted Death went whooping by —To die at last as she wished to die In the fief built out of her blood and bone With her heart for the Hall’s foundation-stone.