Often he liked real anger—as, perchance,
The summer skies like storm-clouds and the glance
Of lightning—for the clearer, purer blue
Of heaven, and the greener old earth, too.
All easy things to do he did with care,
Knowing the very common danger there;
In noblest conquest of supreme debate
The facts are simple as the victory great.
That which had been a task to hardiest minds
To him was as a pleasure, such as finds
The captive-truant, doomed to read throughout
The one lone book he really cares about.
Study revived him: Howsoever dim
And deep the problem, 'twas a joy to him
To solve it wholly; and he seemed as one
Refreshed and rested as the work was done.
And he had gathered, from all wealth of lore
That time has written, such a treasure store,
His mind held opulence—his speech the rare
Fair grace of sharing all his riches there—
Sharing with all, but with the greatest zest
Sharing with those who seemed the neediest:
The young he ever favored; and through these
Shall he live longest in men's memories.
JOHN CLARK RIDPATH
To the lorn ones who loved him first and best,
And knew his dear love at its tenderest,
We seem akin—we simplest friends who knew
His fellowship, of heart and spirit too:
We who have known the happy summertide
Of his ingenuous nature, glorified
With the inspiring smile that ever lit
The earnest face and kindly strength of it: