IN MEMORY OF WILLIAM LEGGETT

The earth may ring, from shore to shore,

With echoes of a glorious name,

But he, whose loss our tears deplore,

Has left behind him more than fame.

For when the death-frost came to lie

On Leggett’s warm and mighty heart,

And quench his bold and friendly eye,

His spirit did not all depart.

The words of fire that from his pen

Were flung upon the fervid page,

Still move, still shake the hearts of men,

Amid a cold and coward age.

His love of truth, too warm, too strong

For Hope or Fear to chain or chill,

His hate of tyranny and wrong,

Burn in the breasts he kindled still.