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 And thou, dear child, in riper days
When asked the reason of thy name,
Shalt answer: “One't were vain to praise
Or censure bore the same.
Some blamed him, some believed him good,
The truth lay doubtless 'twixt the two;
He reconciled as best he could
Old faith and fancies new.
In him the grave and playful mixed,
And wisdom held with folly truce,
And Nature compromised betwixt
Good fellow and recluse.
He loved his friends, forgave his foes;
And, if his words were harsh at times,
He spared his fellow-men,—his blows
Fell only on their crimes.
He loved the good and wise, but found
His human heart to all akin
Who met him on the common ground
Of suffering and of sin.
Whate'er his neighbors might endure
Of pain or grief his own became;
For all the ills he could not cure
He held himself to blame.
His good was mainly an intent,
His evil not of forethought done;
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