Of spirit-life, and made it live
A type and wonder for all days;
No sweeter soul e’er trod earth’s ways
Than he who here at last did give
His body back to earth again.
And now at length beside them lies[1]
One great and true and nobly wise—
A King of Thought, whose spotless reign
The overwhelming years that come
And drown the trash and dross and slime
Shall keep a record of till Time
Shall cease, and voice of man be dumb.
At lasts he rests, whose high clear hope
Was wont on lofty wings to scan
The future destinies of man—
Who saw the Race through darkness grope,
Through mists and error, till at last
The looked-for light, the longed-for age
Should dawn for peasant, prince, and sage,
And centuries of night be past.