Classic Poem

IN MEMORY OF EDWARD QUILLINAN

I saw him sensitive in frame,
I knew his spirits low;
And wish'd him health, success, and fame —
I do not wish it now.

For these are all their own reward,
And leave no good behind;
They try us, oftenest make us hard,
Less modest, pure, and kind.

Alas! yet to the suffering man,
In this his mortal state,
Friends could not give what fortune can —
Health, ease, a heart elate.

But he is now by fortune foil'd
No more; and we retain
The memory of a man unspoil'd,
Sweet, generous, and humane —

With all the fortunate have not,
With gentle voice and brow.
— Alive, we would have changed his lot,
We would not change it now.