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The great trees murmur at the midnight hour,
The birds in silence wait;
A soul is passing to the Fount of Power;
Elmwood is desolate.


Lover of nature, lover of his race,
Learned and true and strong;
Using for others with surpassing grace
The matchless gift of song.


When clouds hung darkest in our day of pain
He prophesied the light;
He looked adown the ages for the reign
Of Brotherhood and Right.


Proud of his country, helping to unbind
The fetters of the slave;
Two worlds their wreaths of honor have entwined
About an open grave.


Great in his simple love of flower and bird,
Great in the statesman's art;
He has been greatest in his lifting word
To every human heart.


He lived the lesson which Sir Launfal guessed
Through wandering far and wide;
The giver must be given in the quest--
He gave himself and died.