‘Gone from the rule that was questioned so rarely, Gone from the seat where he laid down the law; Gaunt, stern, and stalwart, with broad brow set squarely O’er the fierce eye, and the granite-hewn jaw.
‘No more the Great Court shall see him dividing Surpliced crowds thick round the low chapel door; No more shall idlers shrink cowed from his chiding, Senate-house cheers sound his honour no more.
‘Son of a hammer-man: right kin of Thor, he Clove his way through, right onward, amain; Ruled when he’d conquered, was proud of his glory,— Sledge-hammer smiter, in body and brain.
‘Sizar and Master,—unhasting, unresting; Each step a triumph, in fair combat won— Rivals he faced like a strong swimmer breasting Waves that, once grappled with, terrors have none.
‘Trinity marked him o’er-topping the crowd of Heads and Professors, self-centred, alone: Rude as his strength was, that strength she was proud of, Body and mind, she knew all was her own.
‘“Science his strength, and Omniscience his weakness,” So _they_ said of him, who envied his power; Those whom he silenced with more might than meekness, Carped at his back, in his face fain to cower.
‘Milder men’s graces _might_ in him be lacking, Still he was honest, kind-hearted, and brave; Never good cause looked in vain for his backing, Fool he ne’er spared, but he never screened knave.
‘England should cherish all lives from beginning Lowly as his to such honour that rise; Lives, of fair running and straightforward winning, Lives, that so winning, may boast of the prize.
‘They that in years past have chafed at his chiding, They that in boyish mood strove ’gainst his sway, Boys’ hot blood cooled, boys’ impatience subsiding, Reverently think of “the Master” to-day.
‘Counting his courage, his manhood, his knowledge, Counting the glory he won for us all, Cambridge—not only his dearly loved College— Mourns his seat empty in chapel and hall.
‘Lay him down here—in the dim ante-chapel, Where NEWTON’S statue looms ghostly and white, Broad brow set rigid in thought-mast’ring grapple, Eyes that look upward for light—and more light.
‘So should he rest—not where daisies are growing: NEWTON beside him, and over his head Trinity’s full tide of life, ebbing, flowing, Morning and evening, as he lies dead.