Thou hast solved the eternal problem that the ages hold in fee; Thou dost know what we but dream of; where we marvel, thou dost see.
What is truth, and what is fable; what the prophets saw who trod In their rapt, ecstatic visions up the holy mount of God!
Not of these high themes I question—but, O friend, I fain would know How beyond the silent river all the long years come and go!
Where they are, our well-belovèd, who have vanished from our sight, As the stars fade out of heaven at the dawning of the light;
How they live and how they love there, in the “somewhere” of our dreams; In the “city lying four-square” by the everlasting streams!
Oh, the mystery of being! Which is better, life or death? Thou hast tried them both, O comrade, yet thy voice ne’er answereth!
Hast thou grown as grow the angels? Doth thy spirit still aspire As the flame that soareth upward, mounting higher still, and higher?
In the flush of early manhood all thy earthly days were done; Short thy struggle and endeavor ere the peace of heaven was won.
But for us who stayed behind thee—oh! our hands are worn with toil, And upon our souls, it may be, are the stains of earthly moil.
Hast thou kept the lofty beauty and the glory of thy youth? Dost thou see our temples whitening, smiling softly in thy ruth?