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Rh With the grandeur of loneliness died he, with anguish trode under his feet 'Twas the climax of life when he yielded, 'twas victory writ in defeat. No, no, no by the greatness not on him, but in him, Ruled he in robes of might, with his nature for brightest crown. Never a tiger nor snake to their banquet of foulness could win him ; All unconscious of evil, he shunned it with haughtiness greater than pride ; By the lofty ideal he left us, 'tis good he thus lived, and thus died.