Gordon Of Khartoum

OF men he would have raised to light he fell: In soul he conquered with those nerveless hands. His country’s pride and her abasement knell The Man of England circled by the sands.

J. C. M.

A FOUNTAIN of our sweetest, quick to spring In fellowship abounding, here subsides: And never passage of a cloud on wing To gladden blue forgets him; near he hides.