  I KNEW a gentle Man;— Alas! his soul has flown; Now that his tender heart is still, Pale anguish haunts my own. His eye, in pity’s tear, Would often saintly swim; He did to others as he would That they should do to him. He suffered many things,— Renounced, forgave, forbore; And sorrow’s crown of thorny stings, Like Christ, he meekly wore; At rural toils he strove; In beauty, joy he sought; His solace was in children’s words And wise men’s pondered thought. He was both meek and brave, Not haughty, and yet proud; He daily died his soul to save, And ne’er to Mammon bowed. He entered Heaven’s Gate; I caught his parting smile, which said, “Be reconciled, and wait.” |
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