O Leader fallen by the wayside prone,—
O strong great soul gone forth
For thee the wide inhospitable north,
And east and west, from sea to sea make moan:
And thy loved land, whose stalwart limbs and brain,
Beneath thy fostering care have thriven and grown
To stately stature, and erect proud head,
Freedom and Right and Justice to maintain
Here in her place inviolate. Without stain
The name and fame which stood for thee in stead
Of titles and dominions: all men's praise,
And some men's hate thou had'st, yet all shall weep thee dead;
O Leader, fallen mid-march in the ways,
Who shall fill up the measure of thy days!