Classic Poem

What shall be said of this soldier now dead?
This builder, this brother, now resting forever?
What shall be said of this soldier who bled
Through thirty-three years of silent endeavor?

Why, name him thy hero! Yea, write his name down
As something far nobler, as braver by far
Than purple-robed Caesar of battletorn town
When bringing home glittering trophies of war.

Oh, dark somber pines of my starlit Sierras,
Be silent of song, for the master is mute!
The Carpenter, master, is dead and lo! there is
Silence of song upon nature's draped lute!

Brother! Oh, manly dead brother of mine!
My brother by toil 'mid the toiling and lowly,
My brother by sign of this hard hand, by sign
Of toil, and hard toil, that the Christ has made holy:

Yea, brother of all the brave millions that toil;
Brave brother in patience and silent endeavor,
Rest on, as the harvester rich from his soil,
Rest you, and rest you for ever and ever.