LEE O. HARRIS by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

O SAY not he is dead,
The friend we honored so;
Lift up a grateful voice instead
And say: He lives, we know --
We know it by the light
Of his enduring love
Of honor, valor, truth and right,
And man, and God above.

Remember how he drew
The child-heart to his own,
And taught the parable anew,
And reaped as he had sown;
Remember with what cheer
He filled the little lives,
And stayed the sob and dried the tear
With mirth that still survives.

All duties to his kind
It was his joy to fill;
With nature gentle and refined,
Yet dauntless soul and will,
He met the trying need
Of every troublous call,
Yet high and clear and glad indeed
He sung above it all.

Ay, listen! Still we hear
The patriot song, the lay
Of love, the woodland note so dear --
These will not die away.
Then say not he is dead,
The friend we honor so,
But lift a grateful voice instead,
And say: He lives, we know.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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