(John Greenleaf Whittier & Lorne Entress)      So fallen, so lost, the light withdrawn   Which once he wore   The glory from his gray hair gone   Forevermore      Revile him not, the Tempter hath   A snare for all   And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath   Befit his fall      Oh dumb be passion's stormy rage   When he who might   Have lighted up and led his age   Falls back in night      Scorn, would the angels laugh to mark   A bright soul driven   Fiend-goaded down the endless dark   From hope and heaven      Let not the land once proud of him   Insult him now   Nor brand with deeper shame his dim   Dishonored brow      But let its humbled sons instead   From sea to lake   A long lament, as for the dead   In sadness make      Of all we loved and honored   Naught save power remains   A fallen angel's pride of thought   Still strong in chains      All else is gone from those great eyes   The soul has fled   When faith is lost when honor dies   The man is dead      Then pay the reverence of old days   To his dead fame   Walk backward with averted gaze