If Thayer had died before Stearns, I believe Whittier would have written the same thing about him.

They are familiar to my readers, I am sure, but I will close this brief and imperfect tribute by citing them once more: He has done the work of a true man,-- Crown him, honor him, love him.
Weep over him, tears of women, Stoop, manliest brows, above him! * * * * * * For the warmest of hearts is frozen, The freest of hands is still; And the gap in our picked and chosen The long years may not fill.
No duty could overtask him, No need his will outrun; Or ever our lips could ask him, His hands the work had done.
He forgot his own soul for others, Himself to his neighbor lending; He found the Lord in his suffering brothers, And not in the clouds descending.
* * * * * * Ah, well!--The world is discreet; There are plenty to pause and wait; But here was a man who set his feet Sometimes in advance of fate,-- Plucked off the old bark when the inner Was slow to renew it, And put to the Lord's work the sinner When saints failed to do it.
Never rode to the wrong's redressing A worthier paladin.
Shall we not hear the blessing, "Good and faithful, enter in!".