I heard thee say, when life did slope:
“Man is immortal in his race;”
And now I see thee in this face,
So radiant, so full of hope.
THE FAREWELL
In Memoriam Frank J. Cressy, M. D.
’Twas here, where slopes the hill into the vale,
With many a roof and tow’r and heav’nward spire,
And rows of lofty elms,—that wan and pale
He gazed upon the sunset and its fire,
Which glowed in sky and river, on the green
And curving hills and far-off hazy plain;
The early summer was upon the scene—
All fresh and verdant after days of rain—
He looked upon it all with wistful eye,
His life’s arena ere he went to die.
What thoughts came to him then I do not know,
But seldom man was granted better place
To take farewell with everything below,
And look into the Father’s smiling face,—
For nature’s Vesper, glorious with light,
Held sweet communion with the days of yore,
And blessed the deeds of service and the right,
The things that vanish not, forevermore;
And saw he this, then had his last adieu
No painful pang, but rather, that he knew,
The morrow of that evening would be fair,
And rich in great and good realities,
Though, like all pilgrims, he wist hardly where
The homeland looms with bright felicities.
With Cato he believed “it must be so.”
That this strange sojourn is not all in vain,
And that somewhere the longing soul shall know
The meaning of the journey’s toil and pain,
And find the quest for which he daily strove,
Embodied in the light of truth and love.
He said farewell to friends of many years,
As sank the sun behind the farthest ridge,
And chilly shadows came with darksome fears
To those who homeward turned, across the bridge;
And he passed on with that which ne’er I see
Without the feeling of a mystery,—
The train of life, the unknown destiny,
The ardent hopes, the crushing misery
It bears along, as with a magic speed,—
The wonder of the age, the country’s iron-steed.
And in its speed was hope, for at the end
Stood Skill and Wisdom to prolong his life,
And with him fared a kind and trusted friend,
And more than all, his e’er devoted wife,
But Skill and Love’s most consecrated aid
Could not prolong a life—that was complete,
And like a man, the last great toll he paid,
Unfaltering, his God and Judge to meet.
But we, who took his hand upon this slope,
With parting words, have in this fitting frame
Of nature placed his life of work and hope,
And writ upon it all his honored name,
A name that lives in grateful memories
Of those to whom he gave his ministries.
BABY BRUCE
I see her kneeling at the mound
Of baby Bruce,
And placing on the turfless ground
Sweet flow’rs, profuse,
I see the pearls of bitter tears
Fall on their leaves;
Alas, that one in tender years
So sorely grieves!