THE DEATH OF CHANNING

While yet the harvest-fields are white,

And few the toiling reapers stand,

Called from his task before the night,

We miss the mightiest of the band.

O thou of strong and gentle mind,

Thy thrilling voice shall plead no more

For Truth, for Freedom, and Mankind-

The lesson of thy life is o’er.

But thou in brightness, far above

The fairest dream of human thought,

Before the seat of Power and Love,

Art with the Truth that thou hast sought