  Born in London, September 1794; died at Grahamstown, 30th May 1884. Mourn, Africa! your oldest, noblest sage Sleeps the long sleep. Your noblest? Aye! for he Whose name the roll of true nobility Next heads, may well be proud. How bright a page His history fills. The Franklin of our age, Who wrought for Truth, for Liberty, and Light. The aim of all his fourscore years and ten Was “Peace on earth and good will towards men;” Right for the wrongÈd weak—for wronging right Confusion. How he strove with sword, tongue, pen, The glorious dower of his heart and brain To us and God: until He took again The life, which could we, we would fain recall. The measure of his influence who can tell?— We know not whether from that distant home To which th’ All-Wise has ta’en him, he may come In spirit to the land he served so well. But this we know:—The good that he has wrought, Th’ examples set, the lessons he has taught, As scattered seed on Time’s e’er-rolling flood Immortal are, and can but work us good. H. W. Bidwell. [Image of decorative bar not available.] |
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