There 'bides a tenderness for weakling things

Within thy heart, the sorrowing country knows

These passions, bravest and the tenderest mate.

When man is dust, before the gazing eyes

Of all the gaping throng, his life lies wide

[Pg 96]

For all to see and whisper low about

Or let their thoughts in discord's clatter rise.

But thine was pure and undefiled,

A record of long brilliant, teeming days,

Each thought did tend to further things,

But pure as the proverbial child.

Oh, people, that thy grief might find express

To gather in some vast cathedral's hall,

That then in unity we might kneel and hear

Sublimity in sounds, voice our distress.

Peace, peace, the men of God cry, ye be bold,

The world hath known, 'tis Heaven who claims him now,

And in our railings we but cast aside

The noble traits he bid us hold.

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