God sent not the Angel of Death for his soul—
Not the Reaper who cometh for all—
But out of the shadows that curtained the day
He heard his lost little one call;
Heard the voice that he loved, and following fast,
Passed on to the Far-away strand,
And he walks the streets of the City of Peace,
With Little Boy Blue by the hand!
Not the Reaper who cometh for all—
But out of the shadows that curtained the day
He heard his lost little one call;
Heard the voice that he loved, and following fast,
Passed on to the Far-away strand,
And he walks the streets of the City of Peace,
With Little Boy Blue by the hand!
REINCARNATION?
THEY come to all of us just now and then,
Like fleeting spirit-memories,
The visions of some place we never saw—
Elusive, fading, phantasies
That startle us as old familiar haunts
We knew and loved in some lost time,
Some age forgotten that has dropped away
As dies the cadence of a rhyme.
Like fleeting spirit-memories,
The visions of some place we never saw—
Elusive, fading, phantasies
That startle us as old familiar haunts
We knew and loved in some lost time,
Some age forgotten that has dropped away
As dies the cadence of a rhyme.
We turn a page, and there before us lies
A picture of the crawling Nile,
And instantly we know, untold, what lies
Beyond the rushes, mile on mile.
We are not here, for we slip back again,
A part of that far age and land—
With Cleopatra and with Antony,
Treading those wastes of desert sand.
A picture of the crawling Nile,
And instantly we know, untold, what lies
Beyond the rushes, mile on mile.
We are not here, for we slip back again,
A part of that far age and land—
With Cleopatra and with Antony,
Treading those wastes of desert sand.
72
