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the death of june.
O God! that man were good! That he would not
Make himself pestilent by brooding long
O'er evil thoughts and deeds,—a wind that lurks
For poisons in the marsh:—that he were true
And loving, like all natural things, that grow
Best in the sunshine, drawing from Thy light
Their joy, their strength from working Thy firm will!
Then were this human life a summer breeze
Freshening the earth with balmy draughts of bloom;
And death were but subsiding into heaven,
As June flowers softly fade upon the light
Of brighter noons, yet leave their breath behind.
Make himself pestilent by brooding long
O'er evil thoughts and deeds,—a wind that lurks
For poisons in the marsh:—that he were true
And loving, like all natural things, that grow
Best in the sunshine, drawing from Thy light
Their joy, their strength from working Thy firm will!
Then were this human life a summer breeze
Freshening the earth with balmy draughts of bloom;
And death were but subsiding into heaven,
As June flowers softly fade upon the light
Of brighter noons, yet leave their breath behind.
