 | Teresa and Other Poems |  |
75
C. G. GORDON
Not here he sleeps: the gentlest of the brave,A name world-famous, fills a nameless grave;
Nor here be writ his triumphs or his doom,
Fighting for China, dying for Khartoum.
Of life he recked not, but for God to spend;
God's sword he was, and servant to the end,
In all his deeds heroic found, as few,
Nor faithful least in what he failed to do;
Yet to such meekness did his soul attain
Men's praise he feared, as others their disdain,
And hid his greatness, like a pearl of price,
In the rough casket of self-sacrifice.
So living, dying, passed he from our ken,
Apostle, hero, martyr, king of men;
And yet unspeak it, for he leaves a name
Too high for title and too pure for fame;
And this poor pillar mourns not Gordon's death:
‘Praise God for Gordon's noble life,’ it saith.
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