A Tribute. 247 



A TRIBUTE. 



BY DARWIN ROOT, '02. 



The dear old man has gone and now no more 

 The mountains whisper in his listening ear 

 The secrets of their inner life. They rear 

 Their white-crowned heads and scan in vain the shore 

 Of Time where he has gleaned in years before 

 The mysteries of the changing sands, and clear 

 And open laid them as a faithful seer 

 On Truth's broad altar. Now the voice of yore 

 Is stilled, the face is gone, but ne'er to die 

 A memory lives; his voice and face the same 

 As in the bygone days may calm our strife, 

 And e'en in memory may his beaming eye 

 E'er dissipate each sordid selfish aim 

 And light us to the mountain tops of Life. 



