And so, since thou hast passed within the gate Whereby awhile I wait, I give blind grief and blinder sense the lie Thou hast not lived to die!
1881.
IN MEMORY. JAMES T. FIELDS.
As a guest who may not stay Long and sad farewells to say Glides with smiling face away,
Of the sweetness and the zest Of thy happy life possessed Thou hast left us at thy best.
Warm of heart and clear of brain, Of thy sun-bright spirit's wane Thou hast spared us all the pain.
Now that thou hast gone away, What is left of one to say Who was open as the day?
What is there to gloss or shun?
Save with kindly voices none Speak thy name beneath the sun.
Safe thou art on every side, Friendship nothing finds to hide, Love's demand is satisfied.
Over manly strength and worth, At thy desk of toil, or hearth, Played the lambent light of mirth,--
Mirth that lit, but never burned; All thy blame to pity turned; Hatred thou hadst never learned.
Every harsh and vexing thing At thy home-fire lost its sting; Where thou wast was always spring.
And thy perfect trust in good, Faith in man and womanhood, Chance and change and time, withstood.
Small respect for cant and whine, Bigot's zeal and hate malign, Had that sunny soul of thine.
But to thee was duty's claim Sacred, and thy lips became Reverent with one holy Name.
Therefore, on thy unknown way, Go in God's peace! We who stay But a little while delay.
Keep for us, O friend, where'er Thou art waiting, all that here Made thy earthly presence dear;
Something of thy pleasant past On a ground of wonder cast, In the stiller waters glassed!
Keep the human heart of thee; Let the mortal only be Clothed in immortality.
And when fall our feet as fell Thine upon the asphodel, Let thy old smile greet us well;
Proving in a world of bliss What we fondly dream in this,-- Love is one with holiness!
1881.
WILSON
Read at the Massachusetts Club on the seventieth anniversary the birthday of Vice-President Wilson, February 16, 1882.
The lowliest born of all the land, He wrung from Fate's reluctant hand The gifts which happier boyhood claims; And, tasting on a thankless soil The bitter bread of unpaid toil, He fed his soul with noble aims.
And Nature, kindly provident, To him the future's promise lent; The powers that shape man's destinies, Patience and faith and toil, he knew, The close horizon round him grew, Broad with great possibilities.
By the low hearth-fire's fitful blaze He read of old heroic days, The sage's thought, the patriot's speech; Unhelped, alone, himself he taught, His school the craft at which he wrought, His lore the book within his, reach.
He felt his country's need; he knew The work her children had to do; And when, at last, he heard the call In her behalf to serve and dare, Beside his senatorial chair He stood the unquestioned peer of all.
Beyond the accident of birth He proved his simple manhood's worth; Ancestral pride and classic grace Confessed the large-brained artisan, So clear of sight, so wise in plan And counsel, equal to his place.
With glance intuitive he saw Through all disguise of form and law, And read men like an open book; Fearless and firm, he never quailed Nor turned aside for threats, nor failed To do the thing he undertook.
How wise, how brave, he was, how well He bore himself, let history tell While waves our flag o'er land and sea, No black thread in its warp or weft; He found dissevered States, he left A grateful Nation, strong and free!
THE POET AND THE CHILDREN. LONGFELLOW.
WITH a glory of winter sunshine Over his locks of gray, In the old historic mansion He sat on his last birthday;
With his books and his pleasant pictures, And his household and his kin, While a sound as of myriads singing From far and near stole in.
It came from his own fair city, From the prairie's boundless plain, From the Golden Gate of sunset, And the cedarn woods of Maine.
And his heart grew warm within him, And his moistening eyes grew dim, For he knew that his country's children Were singing the songs of him,
The lays of his life's glad morning, The psalms of his evening time, Whose echoes shall float forever On the winds of every clime.
All their beautiful consolations, Sent forth like birds of cheer, Came flocking back to his windows, And sang in the Poet's ear.
Grateful, but solemn and tender, The music rose and fell With a joy akin to sadness And a greeting like farewell.
With a sense of awe he listened To the voices sweet and young; The last of earth and the first of heaven Seemed in the songs they sung.
And waiting a little longer For the wonderful change to come, He heard the Summoning Angel, Who calls God's children home!
And to him in a holier welcome Was the mystical meaning given Of the words of the blessed Master "Of such is the kingdom of heaven!"
1882