Beneath his vestments beat a knightly heart,
Constant in quest of good and noble things:
He held his warrant from the King of Kings
Who bore for us life's inconspicuous part
Among the poor and lowly: his the art
That won to fellowship, by words of love,
The weak and sinful—lifting them above
Earth's evil ways,—secure from danger's dart.
And now his task is finished.—Nevermore
Shall pain's pinched features soften, nor the dim
Glazed eye grow brighter, gazing upon him—
The friendly intercessor. On his breast—
(The wave of life now broken on death's shore)—
The sacred symbol lies in flawless rest!