Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408329" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Memoriam — Nicol Drysdale Stenhouse</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">SHALL he, on whom the fair lord, Delphicus,<br>Turned gracious eyes and countenance of shine,<br>Be left to lie without a wreath from us,<br>To sleep without a flower upon his shrine?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Shall he, the son of that resplendent Muse,<br>Who gleams, high priestess of sweet scholarship,<br>Still slumber on, and every bard refuse<br>To touch a harp or move a tuneful lip?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No! let us speak, though feeble be our speech,<br>And let us sing, though faltering be our strain,<br>And haply echoes of the song may reach<br>And please the soul we cannot see again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We sing the beautiful, the radiant life<br>That shone amongst us like the quiet moon,<br>A fine exception in this sphere of strife,<br>Whose time went by us like a hallowed tune.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yon tomb, whereon the moonlit grasses sigh,<br>Hides from our view the shell of one whose days<br>Were set throughout to that grand harmony<br>Which fills all minor spirits with amaze.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This was the man whose dear, lost face appears<br>To rise betimes like some sweet evening dream,<br>And holy memories of faultless years,<br>And touching hours of quietness supreme.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He, having learned in full the golden rule,<br>Which guides great lives, stood fairly by the same,<br>Unruffled as the Oriental pool,<br>Before the bright, disturbing angel came.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Learning’s halls he walked—a leading lord,<br>He trod the sacred temple’s inner floors;<br>But kindness beamed in every look and word<br>He gave the humblest Levite at the doors.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When scholars poor and bowed beneath the ban,<br>Which clings as fire, were like to faint and fall,<br>This was the gentle, good Samaritan,<br>Who stopped and held a helping hand to all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No term that savoured of unfriendliness,<br>No censure through those pure lips ever passed;<br>He saw the erring spirit’s keen distress,<br>And hoped for it, long-suffering to the last.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Moreover, in these days when Faith grows faint,<br>And Heaven seems blurred by speculation wild,<br>He, blameless as a mediaeval saint,<br>Had all the trust which sanctifies a child.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now he sleeps, and as the years go by,<br>We’ll often pause above his sacred dust,<br>And think how grand a thing it is to die<br>The noble death which deifies the just.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Kendall">Henry Kendall</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408329" data-title="In Memoriam — Nicol Drysdale Stenhouse de Henry Kendall" data-description="SHALL he, on whom the fair lord, Delphicus,
Turned gracious eyes and countenance of shine,
Be left to lie without a wreath from us,
To sleep without a flower upon his shrine?

Shall he, the son of that resplendent Muse,
Who gleams, high priestess ..."></div>
</div>
</div>