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James B. Maynard
By James Whitcomb Riley
His daily, nightly task is o'er -
He leans above his desk no more.
His pencil and his pen say not
One further word of gracious thought.
All silent is his voice, yet clear
For all a grateful world to hear;
He poured abroad his human love
In opulence unmeasured of -
While, in return, his meek demand, -
The warm clasp of a neighbor-hand
In recognition of the true
World's duty that he lived to do.
So was he kin of yours and mine -
So, even by the hallowed sign
Of silence which he listens to,
He hears our tears as falls the dew.
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