Was that life so incomplete?
Strong heart, that no more shall beat,
Ardent brain and glorious eye,
That seemed meant for tasks so high,
But now moulder back to earth,
Were you all then nothing worth?
Could the death-dew and the dark
Quench that soul’s unflickering spark?
Are its aims, so high and just,
All entombed here in the dust?
O, we trust God shall unfold
More than earthly eyes behold,
And that they whose years were fleet
Find life’s promises complete,
Where, in lands no gaze hath met,
Those we grieve for love us yet!
IN FULLER MEASURE
“Dying so young, how much he missed!” they said,
While his unbreathing sleep they wept around;
“If he had lived, Fame surely would have crowned
With wreath of fadeless green his kingly head;
The clear glance of his burning eyes had read
Wisdom’s dim secrets, hoary and profound;
While his life’s path would have been holy ground,
Made thus by all men’s love upon it shed.”
Doubtless could he have spoken for whom that rain
Of teardrops fell, “How strange your sad words are!”
He would have said; “In fuller measure far
All that life gave to me I still retain;
Love have I now which no dark longings mar,
Fame void of strife, and wisdom free from pain.”
OCTOBER
O sweetest month, that pourest from full hands
The golden bounty of rich harvest lands!
O saddest month, that bearest with thy breath
The crimson leaves to drifts of glowing death!
In fields and lives, the fall of withered leaves
Darkens the glorious season of ripe sheaves,
For Life’s fruition comes with loss and pain,
And Death alone can bring the richest gain.