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Used by permission of the author

I did not ask for strength to let him go
(Although he seemed so young—still but a child);
I did not pray for courage—God, you know—
When down the silver street, blue clad, they filed.
More than my life went with them through the snow,
And yet, dear God—you saw—I smiled—I smiled.

But oh! how shall I pass each day his door
Where still the shadow of his presence lingers?
How touch the things he loved to touch,
Still warm and vibrant from his dear brown fingers?
How tread the silent floors his glad feet trod,
Day after day—unless you help me—God!