Channing

                              I.
Not always do the good die earliest 
     Though when their light is taken from our sky 
     Too oft with rebel thought we question why,
Feeling that earth was all too brightly blest
With their serenest radiance! To thy rest 
     Thou wert not bidden in the golden prime 
     Of thy young years, ere on the scroll of Time
Thy name was placed, O champion of the oppressed! 
     But ampler space was given thee to fill 
     With holy deeds wrought with a loving will,
And solemn utterance of great truths, which make 
     The hearts that heed them, better. If regret 
     Dwells in our souls, and tears our eyelids wet,
They wrong not thee! nor fall for thy dear sake.

                              II.
The living claim our grief, since thou, whose life 
     Chimed ever with the beautiful and true, 
     And shed o'er earth a Paradisean hue, 
Hast vanished suddenly, while yet the strife 
Of Right with Wrong through all the land is rife,
     And strong hearts thrill responsive to the call 
     Of Freedom to her children! Thou didst fall,
Not where the clamorous drum and shrieking fife 
     Called to the dreadful carnival of war, 
     But in a moral conflict nobler far,
Wielding no weapon but the truth in love.
     Woe! that the fainting soul no more may bear, 
     When struggling with its doubts, thy words of cheer,
Born of a faith whose eye is fixed above!

                              III.
But wherefore mourn? Those words are living yet, 
     For Truth survives its champion ! — and, gone forth, 
     Not in vain mission, still shall bless the earth, 
Though men and devils leagued, themselves should set 
To stay its onward course ; o'er every let 
     Resistless shall it win its glorious way, 
     Till Earth, new-taught its mandates to obey, 
Shakes off her ancient lies without regret!
     Then shall thy name be known as one whose creed
Was “GOD IS LOVE!" proclaimed in word and deed —
Whose sect — a noble few — "THE PURE IN HEART!” 
     Who lived, while yet Earth's lowly way thou trod, 
     A life that rendered manifest the God 
Whom thou didst serve, and whose thou wast and art!