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[90] Low bowed in silent gratitude,
     My manhood's heart enjoys
That reverence for the pure and good
     Which blessed the dreaming boy's.

Still shines the light of holy lives
     Like star-beams over doubt;
Each sainted memory, Christlike, drives
     Some dark possession out.

O friend! O brother! not in vain
     Thy life so calm and true,
The silver dropping of the rain,
     The fall of summer dew!

How many burdened hearts have prayed
     Their lives like thine might be!
But more shall pray henceforth for aid
     To lay them down like thee.

With weary hand, yet steadfast will,
     In old age as in youth,
Thy Master found thee sowing still
     The good seed of His truth.

As on thy task-field closed the day
     In golden-skied decline,
His angel met thee on the way,
     And lent his arm to thine.

Thy latest care for man,—thy last
     Of earthly thought a prayer,—
Oh, who thy mantle, backward cast,
     Is worthy now to wear?

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