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nt life will Leave some faint echo still. A whisper giving breath Of praise or blame to death, Soothing or saddening such As loved the living much. Therefore with yearnings vain And fond I still would fain A kindly judgment seek, A tender thought bespeak. And, while my words are read, Let this at least be said "Whate'er his life's defeatures, He loved his fellow-creatures. "If, of the Law's stone table, To hold he scarce was able The first great precept fast, He kept for man the last. "Through mortal lapse and dulness What lacks the Eternal Fulness, If still our weakness can Love Him in loving man? "Age brought him no despairing Of the world's future faring; In human nature still He found more good than ill. "To all who dumbly suffered, His tongue and pen he offered; His life was not his own, Nor lived for self alone. "Hater of din and riot He lived in days unquiet; And, lover of all beauty, Trod the hard ways of duty. "He meant no wrong to any He sought the good of many, Yet knew both sin and folly,-- May God forgive him wholly!" 1882. ABRAM MORRISON. 'Midst the men and things which will Haunt an old man's memory still, Drollest, quaintest of them all, With a boy's laugh I recall Good old Abram Morrison. When the Grist and Rolling Mill Ground and rumbled by Po Hill, And the old red school-house stood Midway in the Powow's flood, Here dwelt Abram Morrison. From the Beach to far beyond Bear-Hill, Lion's Mouth and Pond, Marvellous to our tough old stock, Chips o' the Anglo-Saxon block, Seemed the Celtic Morrison. Mudknock, Balmawhistle, all Only knew the Yankee drawl, Never brogue was heard till when, Foremost of his countrymen, Hither came Friend Morrison; Yankee born, of alien blood, Kin of his had well withstood Pope and King with pike and ball Under Derry's leaguered wall, As became the Morrisons. Wandering down from Nutfield woods With his household and his goods, Never was it clearly told How within our quiet fold Came to be a Morrison. Once a soldier, blame him not That the Quaker he forgot,
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