“And yet we’re saddened when the papers say Another pioneer has passed away! And memory recalls when first, forsooth, We saw him in the glorious flush of youth.
“How plain the simple truth when seen appears, No wonder that faded leaves we fall! This is the winter of the pioneers That blows a wreath of wrinkles to us all!
“A few more mounds for faltering feet to seek, When, somewhere in this lovely sunset-land Like some weird, wintry, weather-beaten peak Some rare old Roman all alone will stand.
“But not for long, for ere the rosy dawn Of many golden days has come and gone, Our pine-embowered bells will shout to every shore "Pacific’s Pioneers are now no more!"
“But lovely still the glorious stars will glow And glitter in God’s upper deep like pearls And mountains too will wear their robes of snow Just as they did when we were boys and girls.
“Ah well, it may be best, and is, no doubt, As death is quite as natural as birth And since no storms can blow the sweet stars out, Why should one wish to always stay on earth?
“Especially as God can never change, And man’s the object of His constant care And though beyond the Pleiades we range His boundless love and mercy must be there.”