POEMS OF OCCASION
The faithful East that cradled him,
Still, while she deems her nurseling sleeps,
Sits by his couch with vision dim;
The plenteous West his feast-day keeps;
The wistful South recalls the ways
Of one who in his love enwound her,
And stayed her, in the evil days,
With arms of comfort thrown around her.
He lives wherever men to men
In perilous hours his words repeat,
Where clangs the forge, where glides the pen,
Where toil and traffic crowd the street;
And in whatever time or place
Earth's purest souls their purpose strengthen,
Down the broad pathway of his race
The shadow of his name shall lengthen.
"Still with us!" all the liegemen cry
Who read his heart and held him dear;
The hills declare "He shall not die!"
The prairies answer "He is here!"
Immortal thus, no dread of fate
Be ours, no vain memento mori:
Life, Life, not Death, we celebrate,—
A lasting presence touched with glory.
The star may vanish,—but a ray,
Sent forth, what mandate can recall?
The circling wave still keeps its way
That marked a turret's seaward fall;
The least of music's uttered strains
Is part of Nature's voice forever;
And aye beyond the grave remains
The great, the good man's high endeavor!
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