Livingstone

A poem by William Arthur Dunkerley

To lift the sombre fringes of the Night,
To open lands long darkened to the Light,
To heal grim wounds, to give the blind new sight,
Right mightily wrought he.
Forth to the fight he fared,
High things and great he dared,
He thought of all men but himself,
Himself he never spared.
He greatly loved--
He greatly lived--
And died right mightily.

Like Him he served, he walked life's troublous ways,
With heart undaunted, and with calm, high face,
And gemmed each day with deeds of sweetest grace;
Pull lovingly wrought he.
Forth to the fight he fared,
High things and great he dared,
In His Master's might, to spread the Light,
Right lovingly wrought he.
He greatly loved--
He greatly lived--
And died right mightily.

Like him he served, he would not turn aside;
Nor home nor friends could his true heart divide;
He served his Master, and naught else beside,
Right faithfully wrought he.
Forth to the fight he fared,
High things and great he dared,
In His Master's might, to spread the Light,
Right faithfully wrought he.
He greatly loved--
He greatly lived--
And died right mightily.

He passed like light across the darkened land,
And dying, left behind him this command,
"The door is open! So let it ever stand!"
Full mightily wrought he.
Forth to the fight he fared,
High things and great he dared,
In His Master's might, to spread the Light,
Right mightily wrought he.
He greatly loved--
He greatly lived--
And died right mightily.

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