So tender and considerate
Of every living thing,
Indignant at all meanness,
The champion of fair play,
Frank, loving and courageous,
Just as he is to-day—
My Bishop.
Of every living thing,
Indignant at all meanness,
The champion of fair play,
Frank, loving and courageous,
Just as he is to-day—
My Bishop.
How well I can remember
His boyish scorn of wrong,
In telling how some weaker lad
Was bullied by the strong:
His eyes would flash at mention
Of an injustice done,
He only prized a victory
When it was fairly won.
And how he loved his "Heroes"!
I call them his indeed.
For he has truly made them
Part of his life and creed—
My Bishop.
His boyish scorn of wrong,
In telling how some weaker lad
Was bullied by the strong:
His eyes would flash at mention
Of an injustice done,
He only prized a victory
When it was fairly won.
And how he loved his "Heroes"!
I call them his indeed.
For he has truly made them
Part of his life and creed—
My Bishop.
And when I look into his face
And tenderly the past years scan,
I murmur in my deep content,
"The child is father of the man."
For not one hope is unfulfilled,
Each blessed promise of his youth,
And tenderly the past years scan,
I murmur in my deep content,
"The child is father of the man."
For not one hope is unfulfilled,
Each blessed promise of his youth,
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