MY GODCHILD
Erect, with shining head,
The great Republic claims her dead;
Nor, in that day when every stripe and star
Proclaims the reign of Peace,
Shall honor to him cease
Nor Fame his laurel mar.
Though no battle-peal awake him,
Time upon its scroll shall make him
One of Earth's heroes dead
Whose deeds that golden day more swiftly sped.
July 12, 1905.
MY GODCHILD
(TO R. K. P. D.)
Rosemary! could we give you
"Remembrance," with your name,
Ere long you 'd tell us something
Of Heaven, whence you came,—
Of those enchanted meadows
Where, through the ceaseless day,
The children waiting to be born
Wonder, and sing, and play,—
And where you wandered carolling
Until the angel's hand
Closed down your eyes—then opened them
To light this earthly Land,—
This Land whereto they 've sent you
To share its joy, its strife,
Its love, and learn through Womanhood
How rich, how deep, is Life.
1906.
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