I saw him sensitive in frame,
⁠I knew his spirits low;
And wished him health, success, and fame—
⁠I do not wish it now.

For these are all their own reward,
⁠And leave no good behind;
They try us, oftenest make us hard,
⁠Less modest, pure, and kind.

Alas! yet to the suffering man,
⁠In this his mortal state,
Friends could not give what fortune can,—
⁠Health, ease, a heart elate.

But he is now by fortune foiled
⁠No more; and we retain
The memory of a man unspoiled,
⁠Sweet, generous, and humane;

With all the fortunate have not,
⁠With gentle voice and brow.
—Alive, we would have changed his lot:
⁠We would not change it now.