WHO WOULD CALL HIM BACK?
A LIFE-WORK finished: yet, hardly begun:
A course in which courage cowardice undone:
A leader of battles whose life’s setting sun
Leaves no cause unwon.
The scholar and statesman, dear to us all,
As he sleeps his last sleep, though fateful his fall,
Dreams only of peace—to life’s pain past recall—
That, kindred, is all.
The robe he wore with such marvelous grace,
Will be fitted to shoulders made for his place:
Efforts about which none could selfishness trace
Shall still bless his race.
Deeds he has done in humanity’s name
Will outlive the marble upreared to his fame:
Yet, would any one ask him, even through pain,
To live life again?
Belle Eyre.
Boston, Mass.