Thine earnest life is over, sainted Friend! And hush'd the teaching voice that gladly pour'd Knowledge and goodness o'er the plastic mind. — Full many a pupil of thy varied lore
Amid thine own New-England's elm-crowned vales Holds thee in tenderness of grateful thought, And far away in the broad-featured west Where the strong Sire of waters robes in green
The shores of Minnesota, comes a wail From youthful bands expecting thy return, To guide them, as the shepherd leads the lamb. They watch in vain.
The pleasant halls are dark Once lighted by thy smile, and flowing tears Reveal the love that linger'd there for thee. Said we thy life was o'er?
Forgive the words. We take them back. Thou hast begun to live. Here was the budding, there the perfect flower,
Here the faint star, and there the unsetting sun, Here the scant preface, there the open Book Where angels read forever. Here on the threshold, the dim vestibule
Thou with a faithful hand didst toil to tune That harp of praise within the unfolding heart Which‘ neath the temple-arch not made with hands Swells the full anthem of Eternity.
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