To John Stuart MillGod knows we honour thee that from high rankDidst stoop to theme held poor for sage or seer;With valiant tome to hallow lowlier sphereIn consecration, just, and stern, and frank!Sad sage, that from the cup of quiet drankSad serious sage, our onliest friend - nay hereWe greet all friends that proffered us good cheer,And in thy name we give to all our thank!God knows we honour thee and hold thee dear,And in the whirling world that spurns the dead,And in the operose life that must forget,Sometimes a quiet hour comes when yetWe know, for all the cypress waving o'er thy bed,Thy grave is in our hearts, and thou art near.
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