Of loss, and keep
Thy spell on all, that none may dare to weep!

For he whom now we mourn,
As if from giants born,
Was strong in limb and strong in brain,
And nobly with a giant scorn
Withstood the direst pain
That healing science knows,
When, by the dastard blows
Of his brute enemy
Laid low, he sought to rise again
Through help of knife and fire,--
The awful enginery
Wherewith men dare aspire
To wrest from Death his victims. Yea,
Though he who healed him shrank and throbbed
With horror of the wound,
Brave Sumner gave no sound,
Nor flinched, nor sobbed,
But as though within the man
Instant premonition ran
Of his high fate,
Imperishable, sculptured state
Enthroned in death to hold,
He stood, a statued form
Of veiled and voiceless storm,
Inwardly quivering
Like the swift-smitten string
Of unheard music, yet