Because thou wert chief and a giant
    With those who fought on for the right
A hero determined, defiant;
    As flame was the sleep of thy might.
Like Stephen in days that are olden,
    Thy lot with a rabble was cast,
But seasons came on that were golden,
    And Peace was thy mother at last.

I knew of thy fierce tribulation,
    Thou wert ever the same in my thought—
The father and friend of a nation
    Through good and through evil report.
At Ephesus, fighting in fetters,
    Paul drove the wild beasts to their pen;
So thou with the lash of thy letters
    Whipped infamy back to its den.

The noise of thy battle is over,
    Thy sword is hung up in its sheath;
Thy grave has been decked by its lover
    With beauty of willowy wreath.
The winds sing about thee for ever,
    The voices of hill and of sea;
But the cry of the conflict will never
    Bring sorrow again unto thee.