Classic Poem

30th December, 1889.

Lay him down, lay him down in the full eye of Heaven,
Beside these grey walls in the fields of his home,
Where Princes, perchance, of his line have been shriven,
And peasants for prayer and for comfort have come.

Lay him down — in all Erin no temple so fit is
To cradle the bravest and best of his name;
The soft winds of even shall sing his Dimittis ,
And stars for his lyke-wake at midnight shall flame.

Meet resting this spot in its wildness and beauty
For the Patriot true in a nation's despite,
The man that was faithful to God and to duty,
Whose judgment unerring still held to the right;

Whose soul was so grand in its simple reliance,
Who steadfastly purposed and patiently wrought,
Who fear'd not opposers, nor quail'd at defiance,
And smiled at the honours that found him unsought.

Devoted, heart-true to the people who scorn'd him,
Who craftily injured and cruelly spoke —
Unable to value the gifts that adorn'd him,
Or fathom the love of the heart that they broke.

Ingrate and forgetful — Ah! tenderly leave him;
The Arms everlasting around him are cast —
No chiding can chafe or ingratitude grieve him
Who sleeps in the Lord when his labour is past.