Phillips Brooks

By John Hall Ingham (1860–1931)

FALLEN that mighty form,

Silent the voice

That through the sin and storm

Made men rejoice.

Not alone Friendship stands

Mute and forlorn—

Over all English lands

Myriads mourn.

Soldier, as one he fought

Loving the strife;

Teacher, a truth he taught

Radiant with life.

The narrow bounds he burst

Of creed and clan,

Seeing in sinner first

Brother and man;

Kept through maturer might

Fervor of youth;

Saw through the smoke of rite

The Sun of Truth;

Let faded dogmas drop,

Sure of the Soul—

Fearless that Doubt would stop

Man from his goal;

Drew from the dust and weeds

Lessons of Love

Sown in our earthly needs,

Garnered above;

Saw in the stars and sea

Symbols sublime,

Gleams of Eternity,

Hopes beyond Time;

Heard heavenly whisperings

Where’er he trod,

Felt through the frame of things

The pulse of God.

O, dying century, test

Thy sons and say,

“My bravest, truest, best,

“I lose this day!”