But chastened with a heavy hand
The sneak, the liar and the bully.

We used to criticise his boots,
His simple tastes in food and fiction,
His everlasting homespun suits,
His leisurely old-fashioned diction;
And yet we had the saving _nous_
To recognise no worse disaster
Could possibly befall the House
Than the removal of its Master.

For though his voice was deep and gruff,
And rumbled like a motor-lorry,
He showed the true angelic stuff
If any one was sick or sorry;
So when pneumonia, doubly dread,
Of breath had nearly quite bereft me,
He watched three nights beside my bed
Until the burning fever left me.

He served three Heads with equal zeal
And equal absence of ambition;
He knew his power, and did not feel
The least desire for recognition;
But shrewd observers, who could trace
Back to their source results far-reaching,
Saw the true Genius of the Place
Embodied in his life and teaching.