A gentleman of wit and charm,
⁠A kindly heart, a cleanly mind,
One who was quick with hand or purse
⁠To lift the burden of his kind.
A brain well balanced and mature,
⁠A soul that shrank from all things base,
So rode he forth that winter day,
⁠Complete in every mortal grace.

And then—the blunder of a horse,
⁠The crash upon the frozen clods,
And—Death? Ah! no such dignity,
⁠But Life, all twisted and at odds!
​At odds in body and in soul,
⁠Degraded to some brutish state,
A being loathsome and malign,
⁠Debased, obscene, degenerate.

Pathology? The case is clear,
⁠The diagnosis is exact;
A bone depressed, a hæmorrhage,
⁠The pressure on a nervous tract.
Theology? Ah, there's the rub!
⁠Since brain and soul together fade,
Then when the brain is dead—enough!
⁠Lord help us, for we need Thine aid!