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THE TWO MONUMENTS.
They spoke of one whose life had been
As a hidden streamlet's course,
Bearing on health and joy unseen,
From its clear mountain source:
Whose young pure memory, lying deep
Midst rock, and wood, and hill,
Dwelt in the homes where poor men sleep,[1]
A soft light meek and still:
Whose gentle voice, too early call'd
Unto Music's land away,
Had won for God the earth's enthrall'd,
By words of silvery sway.
These were his victories—yet enroll'd
In no high song of fame,
The pastor of the mountain-fold
Left but to Heaven his name.
- ↑ Love had he seen in huts where poor men lie.
Wordsworth.
