JAMES B. MAYNARD
His daily, nightly task is o'er—
He leans above his desk no more.
His pencil and his pen say not
One further word of gracious thought.
All silent is his voice, yet clear
For all a grateful world to hear;
He poured abroad his human love
In opulence unmeasured of—
While, in return, his meek demand,—
The warm clasp of a neighbor-hand
In recognition of the true
World's duty that he lived to do.