Until we feel the gleam and glow Of summer pulsing through our veins, And hear the patter of the rains, And watch the green things sprout and grow.
You sing of joy, and we do mark How glad a thing is life, and dear; Of sorrow, and we seem to hear The sound of sobbing in the dark.
The subtle power to sway and move, The stamp of genius strong and true, This, friend, was heaven's gift to you, This made you great and won you love.
Your song goes ringing clear and sweet— Though on earth's bosom, bare and brown, All willingly you laid you down, The music is not incomplete.
Sleep on, it is not by the years We measure life when all is done; Your rest is earned, your laurels won; Sleep, softly sleep, we say with tears.
A HINT.
Among the vivid green I see A yellow leaf, And yonder in the basswood tree An empty nest swings lonesomely— The wheat's in sheaf.