George W. Childs.

A poem by George W. Doneghy


"Gone to his exceeding great reward,"
The friend of rich and poor alike;
And there'll rest not beneath the sward
More shining mark that death could strike.

The benefactor of his race--
His noble soul from avarice free;
By heaven lent the sordid earth to grace--
A nation's tears sincerely shed for thee!

Thrice blest the one, in lowly lot,
Contented with an humble place,
Who by thy noble heart was ne'er forgot
And knew thy smiling, loving face!

Oh, thus too early snatched away
From generous act and loving deed;
Thousands will now deplore the day--
Thousands now whose hearts will bleed!

The heaven-pointing shaft for thee
Its stately head might never raise;
But thy sweet memory would ever be
Hymned by thy fellow-mortals' praise!

Oh, thanks to Him who in His image made
And to the world this beacon gave;
With tears we'll water flowers that never fade
And gently drop upon his new-made grave!

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