THE ONGOING
“Loose me from fear and make me see aright
How each has back what once he stayed to weep—
Homer his sight, David his little lad.”
He will not come, the gallant flying boy,
Back to his field. Somewhere he wings his way
Where the Immortals keep; where Homer now
Has back his sight, David his little lad;
Where all those are we dully call the dead,
Who have gone greatly on some shining quest,
He takes his way. That which he quested for,
That larger freedom of a larger birth,
Captains him, flying into fields of dawn.
He has gone on where now the soldier-slain
Arise in light. Somewhere he takes his place
And leads his comrades in untrodden fields.
For never can these rest until our earth
Has ceased from travail—never can these take
Their fill of sleep until the Scourge is slain.
And so they keep them sometimes near old ways
In the accustomed fields—now flying low,
Invisible, they cheer the gallant hosts,
Bidding them be, as they, invincible.
He will come never back! But we who watched
Him take the upper air and steer his boundless path
Firmly against the foe, we know that here
Death could not penetrate. Life only is
Where all is life, and so, before us, keeps
Always the vision of his faring on
To unpathed fields where his great comrades wait,
And, joyful, take him for their captaining—
The brave Adventurer,
The gallant flying Boy!
MARY SIEGRIST.
By permission of the New York Times.
THE MENTOR