In Memory of W A Fordham
Around the wheatfields, where the sheep-pens stood
Or, where the fathers of the people meet,
To plan and choose, with judgment wise, discreet,
How common life may move to common good.
There did we find him. Ne’er with noisy strife,
But quietly pressing on where duty lay.
And seeking every hour and every day
The fitting work, the rich abounding life.
When near at hand he heard the evening bell,
He did not flinch, but straightly went his way,
Laid down no burden, – calmly faced the fray,
Trusting that at the end all should be well.
So let him rest! His memory shall inspire
The living dwellers by the ancient well,
Beside the cottage fires they long shall tell
Of him, the good, true, English country Squire.