Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/281

280

ye a prince hath fallen? They who sit On gilded throne, with rubied diadem, Caparisoned and guarded round, till death Doth stretch them 'neath some gorgeous canopy, Yet leave no foot-prints in the realm of mind— Call them not kings—they are but crowned men. Know ye a prince hath fallen? Nature gave The signet of her royalty, and years Of mighty labour won that sceptred power Of knowledge, which from unborn ages claims Homage and empire, such as time's keen tooth May never waste. Yea,—and the grace of God So witnessed with his spirit, so impelled To deeds of christian love, that there is reared A monument for him, which hath no dread Of that fierce flame which wrecks the solid earth. I see him 'mid the Shetlands, spreading forth The riches of the Gospel—kneeling down To light its lamp in every darkened hut:— Not in the armour of proud learning braced, But with a towel girded—as to wash The feet of those whom earthly princes scorn, I see him lead the rugged islander, Even as a brother, to the Lamb of God, Counting his untaught soul more precious far Than all the lore of all the lettered world.