But as time sped on, all, wond'ring, marked his silent, lonely
ways,
And the brooding nature, recking naught for blame, nor mirth, nor
praise.
At rudest tasks of the miner's toil with fevered zeal he wrought,
But to its tempting golden spoils he gave nor word nor thought.

Soon want and toil and autumn rains brought fever in their train,
And Red Rock Camp resounded with delirious moans of pain;
And the healthy shrank from the fevered ones, with hard,
unpitying eye,
And, heeding but their selfish fears left the sick, unnursed, to
die.

Then unto the stranger in their midst, new hope and vigor came,
Enkindled swift in that nature grand by charity's ardent flame;
He nursed the sick and buried the dead, by the dying watched,
until
The grateful miners blessed the chance that had brought them
"Parson Will."

'Twas thus they named him. Health returned to the stricken camp
again.
One victim more the fever claimed--'twas he; nor grief nor pain
Could be discerned in those patient eyes, but they shone with a
radiant light
As he whispered: "Joy and gladness come close after the cold dark
night;
A few short hours, and from life's dull chain will my weary heart