I knew a gentle Man;—
Alas! his soul has flown;
Now that his tender heart is still,
Pale anguish haunts my own.
His eye, in pity’s tear,
Would often saintly swim;
He did to others as he would
That they should do to him.
He suffered many things,—
Renounced, forgave, forbore;
And sorrow’s crown of thorny stings,
Like Christ, he meekly wore;
At rural toils he strove;
In beauty, joy he sought;
His solace was in children’s words
And wise men’s pondered thought.
He was both meek and brave,
Not haughty, and yet proud;
He daily died his soul to save,
And ne’er to Mammon bowed.
E’en as a little child
He entered Heaven’s Gate;
I caught his parting smile, which said,
“Be reconciled, and wait.”