They laugh when he in rhapsody,
With eye uplift and soul serene,
Translates the wonders of the sky
Which they have dimly seen.
Or if he pluck a wayside flower
And tell them of its beauty rare,
They smile, not knowing God’s great power
Is manifested there.
Or if when tempests rule the sky
He walk and talk with wind and rain,
They call his soul’s great ecstacy
A sickness of the brain.
He walks unrecognized of men,
For sense may not discern the soul;
The morrow’s wonders of his pen
Their sympathies control.
Along the battle-field of life,
Content to lose if others gain,
He lifts no finger in the strife,
Yet feels its bitter pain.
He wanders through the crowded street,
Or lingers by the country side,
For all things good his heart doth beat
With love that is world-wide.
The troubles of his fellow men
He shrines with pity in heart,
And prays the time to hasten when
All sorrow shall depart.
And when the kindly voice of Death
Proclaims life’s journey duly trod,
He blesses all with parting breath
And leaves the rest to God.