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Rh Teacher and teacher's teacher long had wrought Upon these tomes of ancient Hindu lore, Till Death did give to one whom both had taught The task to finish, when they were no more.

'T is finished,—yet unfinished, like the flow Of water-streams between their banks that glide; For Learning's streams, that down the ages go, Flow on for ever with a swelling tide.

Here plodding labor brings its affluent brook; There genius, like a river, pours amain: While Learning—ageless, deathless—scarce will look To note which ones have toiled her love to gain.

Alike to her are river, brook, and rill, That in her stately waters so combine, If only all who choose may drink their fill, And slake the thirst to know, the thirst divine.

The Gītā's lesson had our Whitney learned— To do for duty, not for duty's meed. And, paid or unpaid be the thanks he earned, The thanks he recked not, recked alone the deed.

Here stands his book, a mighty instrument, Which those to come may use for large emprise. Use it, O scholar, ere thy day be spent. The learner dieth. Learning never dies.