A LAST TRIBUTE
(W. T. A. Died 1895)
Bear him away in silence to his rest.
The world knows nothing of the fight he fought,
The patient toil to no fruition brought;
Fold the white hands upon the quiet breast,
Bear him away in silence to his rest:
Rest he at least has won.
No victor’s wreath may deck the turf above,
No crown was his for all his labour done—
Only our love.
Lavish your bays, O world, on lesser brows!
He came to your high places, staunch, elate,
Too proud of soul to stoop to any gate
That fool or knave may enter if he bows:
Lavish your bays, O world, on lesser brows
That bend to your commands!
Better, than thus to cringe and crawl above,
To fail and pass, no guerdon in his hands—
Only our love.
Greater is work than wage, and love than fame.
The world to many idols still shall turn
And worship those that take, not those that earn,
The while he sleeps and most forget his name:
Greater is work than wage, and love than fame.
So leave him—earth to earth,
The peace of heaven about him and above,
And with him ever all we have of worth—
Only our love.