The True and Esteemed Friend of the Working Man

What mournful voices thrill upon my ears?
What wailing tones of sorrow vex the air?
They speak a woe that lies too deep for tears,
A woe that every son of toil will share.
The mournful voice, the sorrow and the woe
Are heard, and known, and felt o'er Europe broad;
Cassell is dead! his work is done below-
He rests upon the bosom of his God!
Friend of the working man! the heart-warm tear,
Wiped by the horny hand of honest toil,
Is shed in grateful showers upon thy bier,
By million workmen upon British soil!
Their friend and advocate-the wise and good!
Their interests ever were with him supreme-
A father working for their mental food-
Their progress upward, onward, still his theme.
No mythic figures, drooping o'er his dust,
Can symbolise his virtues and his worth;
No 'storied urn or animated bust'
Relates his labours, draws his merits forth.
A leader in the van of knowledge still,
He won his laurels on the field of mind,
In combat keen with ignorance and ill-
The trophies of his power remain behind!