The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.

Tomorrow let us do or die!

Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of the day, spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay.

Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save.

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I, No harp like my own could so cheerily play, And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

Although no words can really help to ease the loss you bear, Just know that you are very close in every thought and prayer. To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.