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Sleep, Leader, sleep. Whose ardour never slept; Thy teeming brain has borne abundant fruit; Before thy fellows thou hast proudly stept, Regardless of flung scorn and rancour’s bruit. Whom thou hast led thou leavest, not unwept; Though blossoms fall, the fruit will yet mature; Thy works with thy young nation will endure, Deep runs their well-struck root; Sleep, Leader, sleep.

Rest, Toiler, rest; In regions of dim dawn, Through social wildernesses thou hast led, Nor climbed alone, but all thy people drawn To sunny heights; but now thou liest dead, Like that old seer on Pisgah’s upland lawn: Though we behold the land of promise near, Our leader leaves us with our hope, our fear— God called him; bow the head. Rest, Toiler, rest.

Peace, Statesman, peace. Do we with blinded eyes, And hearts too fond, exalt thee o’er thy peers? A voice, no echo of our own, replies (And each sad heart rejoices as it hears): “Of him who now forever silent lies We know the worth; a life yet promise-filled Has passed away; a mighty heart is stilled.” With our tears flow their tears; Peace, Statesman, peace.

Sleep, Father, sleep. To prove the love we bear, May we accomplish that by thee begun; What thou triumphant daredst, may we dare; What thou wouldst do, may that by us be done. Father! thyself thou wouldst not respite, spare— Shall we then sit and wait? Nay, rather spend Our lives as thine was spent, that so our end, Like thine, may worth declare. Sleep, Father sleep.

Rest, Premier, rest: Premier in very deed As we have known, as sister States have known. Thy words prophetic hitherward did speed— “I leave for God’s own country,” and alone We wait, and hope, yes hope, with hearts that bleed.