|FAREWELL, sweet bard of our Western world,
Thy labor's crown with admiration pearled,
Thy songs by other voices now must plead
Thy excellence i' poetic thought and deed.
Thy strains so sweet, so pure, so good, so true,
However loved, must bid a last adieu,
For strangers' lyres to carry on thy praise,
And hold aloft thy art to public gaze.
Aye, to this world thou art e'er more a mute,
Though fit thy soul for a celestial lute,
Where to the beauties of a universe
Thou eanst in grandeur ever there converse;
Can be anew with friends long past and gone,
Can sing with David a much holier song,
Can walk with Christ and praise him for his love,
And tune with all the poets gone above.
There's Cooper, Shakespeare, Milton, Scott, have all,
Alike thyself some golden verse installed;
And filled deservedly their mission here
And left their works in books and hearts so dear.
And thus thy pleasing task is now complete,
Like thee in quietude thy pen doth sleep;
Thy monument of fame, immortal, grand,
Is spread abroad, the product of thy hand.
But now, sweet, loved friend, we bid farewell!
We mourn thy death as deep our sorrows swell;
We breathe a sigh, as thus we shed a tear,
And hold thy name and words all sacred here.
__James A. DeMoss
James A. DeMoss
(Thayer, Kansas: ___. 1892)