And as the sea has not the strength to win
Back to its love my soul, O Comrades, ye—
In the wood lost, and seeking me therein—
Are not less impotent than all the sea!
My soul at last its ultimate house hath won,
And in that house shall sleep along with me.
Yea, we shall slumber softly, out of the sun,
To day and night alike indifferent,
Aware and unaware if Time be done.
Yet ere I go, ere yet your faith be spent,
For our old love I pass Earth's message on:
"In me, why shouldst thou not find thy content?
"Are not my days surpassing fair, from dawn
To sunset, and my nights fulfilled with peace?
Shall not my strength remain when thou art gone
"The way of all blown dust? Shall Beauty cease
Upon my face because thy face grows gray?
Behold, thine hours, even now, fade and decrease,
"And thou hast got no wisdom; yet I say
This thing there is to learn ere thou must go:
Have no sad thoughts of me upon the way
"Thou takest home coming; for thy soul shall know
The old glad things and sorrowful its share
Until at last Time's legions overthrow
The House thy days have builded unaware."
Now therefore am I joyful who have heard
Earth's message plain to-day, and so I cry
Aloud to you, O Comrades, her last word,
That ye may be as wise and glad as I,
And the long grasses, and the broad green leaves
That beat against the far, unclouded sky:
Who worships me alway, who alway cleaves
Close unto me till his last call rings clear
Across the pathless wood,—his soul receives
My peace continually and shall not fear.
A PRELUDE WRITTEN BY FRANCIS
SHERMAN IS PRIVATELY PRINTED FOR
HIM AND FOR HERBERT COPELAND
AND F. H. DAY AND THEIR FRIENDS
CHRISTMAS M D CCC XCVII
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PRELUDE ***