THE MONUMENT OF GREELEY
Well may the brooding Earth retake
The form we knew, to be a part
Of bloom and herbage, fern and brake,
New lives that from her being start.
Naught of the soul shall there remain:
They came on void and darkness solely
Who the veiled Spirit sought in vain
Within the temple's shrine Most Holy.
That, that, has found again the source
From which itself to us was lent:
The Power that, in perpetual course,
Makes of the dust an instrument
Supreme; the universal Soul;
The current infinite and single
Wherein, as ages onward roll,
Life, Thought, and Will forever mingle.
What more is left, to keep our hold
On him who was so true and strong?
This semblance, raised above the mould
With offerings of word and song,
That men may teach, in aftertime,
Their sons how goodness marked the features
Of one whose life was made sublime
By service for his brother creatures.
And last, and lordliest, his fame,—
A station in the sacred line
Of heroes that have left a name
We conjure with,—a place divine,
Since, in the world's eternal plan,
Divinity itself is given,
To him who lives or dies for Man
And looks within his soul for Heaven.
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