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CHARLES HADDON SPURGEON.

BORN, JUNE 19, 1834. DIED, JAN. 31, 1892.

Sturdy saint-militant, stout, genial soul,
Through good and ill report you've reached the goal
Of all brave effort, and attained that light
Which makes our clearest noontide seem as night.
How much 'twill show us all! We boast our clarity
Of spiritual sense, but mutual charity
Is still our nearest need when faith grows fierce
And even hope earth's mists can hardly pierce.
You were much loved; you spake a potent word
In the world's ear, and listening thousands heard
With joy that clear and confident appeal.
The lingering doubts finer-strung spirits feel,
The sensitive shrinkings from familiar touch
Of the high mysteries, moved you not. Of such
The great throng-stirrers! And you stirred the throng
Who felt you honest and who knew you strong;
Racy of homely earth, yet spirit-fired
With all their higher moods felt, loved, desired.
Puritan, yet of no ascetic strain
Or arid straitness, freshening as the rain
And healthy as the clod; a native force
Incult yet quickening, cleaving its straight course
Unchecked, unchastened, conquering to the end.
Crudeness may chill, and confidence offend,