(GREYSTONE, August 4, 1886.)
Once more, O all-adjusting Death!
The nation's Pantheon opens wide;
Once more a common sorrow saith
A strong, wise man has died.
Faults doubtless had he. Had we not
Our own, to question and asperse
The worth we doubted or forgot,
Until we stood beside his hearse?
Ambitious, cautious, yet the man
To strike down fraud with resolute hand;
A patriot, if a partisan,
He loved his native land.
So let the mourning bells be rung,
The banner droop its folds half-way,
And let the public pen and tongue
Their fitting tribute pay.
Then let us vow above his bier
To set our feet on party lies,
And wound no more a living ear
With words that Death denies.