Among the many lives that I have known,
       &nbsp None I remember more serene and sweet,
       &nbsp More rounded in itself and more complete,
       &nbsp Than his, who lies beneath this funeral stone.
These pines, that murmur in low monotone,
       &nbsp These walks frequented by scholastic feet,
       &nbsp Were all his world; but in this calm retreat
       &nbsp For him the Teacher's chair became a throne.
With fond affection memory loves to dwell
       &nbsp On the old days, when his example made
       &nbsp A pastime of the toil of tongue and pen;
And now, amid the groves he loved so well
       &nbsp That naught could lure him from their grateful shade,
       &nbsp He sleeps, but wakes elsewhere, for God hath said, Amen!