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Pastor and friend, whose voice from year to year
 * With lore of heaven, the listening ear hath mov'd;

Whose pure example, brightening still, and clear,
 * Gave beauty to the path thy words approv'd:
 * Alike by youth, and reverend age belov'd,

In vain, alas!—thy fostering smile we seek;
 * To distant fields of sacred toil remov'd,

We miss thy guiding hand and o'er the cheek
 * Steal the heart's living pearls, as of thy loss we speak.

For thou wert with us, when our souls were tried
 * By the sore ills that throng this pilgrim way;

And like a brother bow'd thee at our side
 * When pain and sickness mark'd us for their prey,
 * Or dearest hopes sank down in dark decay;

How rose thy tones, as if an angel pray'd,
 * When forth the spirit pass'd from failing clay;

Or with the mourner-train, in funeral shade,
 * Where sadly, dust to dust, the holy dead were laid!

The sheep of other folds thy kindness knew,—
 * The wandering lambs that own'd no shepherd's care,

The erring outcast, shrinking from the view,
 * The poor, in cell all desolate and bare,
 * The homeless stranger, in his deep despair;

No cold pretension, oft from learning bred,
 * No pharisaic pride constrain'd thy prayer;