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A TRIBUTE.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

AN earnest life in patient labor spent,

A mind for research and a heart that felt,

A sage who dared not scoff, but humbly knelt

Before the shrine of Nature, reverent,

And ne'er the sanction of his science lent

To those who, impious, sought to trample down

Beneath their feet the sceptre and the crown

Of Deity, or who, with rude hands, rent

The seamless robe. He owned the sacred spell,

Loosed from his feet the sandals ere he trod

A holier place than where the prophet fell

And worshipped prostrate on the hallowed sod;

In the weird legend of the rock and shell

Saw through Creation the Creator, God.

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