The world may rage without,
Quiet is here;
Statesmen may toil and shout,
Cynics may sneer;
The great world—let it go—
June warmth be March's snow,
I care not—be it so
Since I am here.
Time was when war's alarm
Called for a fear,
When sorrow's seeming harm
Hastened a tear;
Naught care I now what foe
Threatens, for scarce I know
How the year's seasons go
Since I am here.
This is my resting-place
Holy and dear,
Where Pain's dejected face
May not appear.
This is the world to me,
Earth's woes I will not see
But rest contentedly
Since I am here.
Is't your voice chiding, Love,
My mild career?
My meek abiding, Love,
Daily so near?
"Danger and loss" to me?
Ah, Sweet, I fear to see
No loss but loss of Thee
And I am here.
Death.
If days should pass without a written word
To tell me of thy welfare, and if days
Should lengthen out to weeks, until the maze
Of questioning fears confused me, and I heard.
Life-sounds as echoes; and one came and said
After these weeks of waiting: "He is dead!"
Though the quick sword had found the vital part,
And the life-blood must mingle with the tears,
I think that, as the dying soldier hears
The cries of victory, and feels his heart
Surge with his country's triumph-hour, I could
Hope bravely on, and feel that God was good.
I could take up my thread of life again
And weave my pattern though the colors were
Faded forever. Though I might not dare
Dream often of thee, I should know that when
Death came to thee upon thy lips my name
Lingered, and lingers ever without blame.
Aye, lingers ever. Though we may not know
Much that our spirits crave, yet is it given
To us to feel that in the waiting Heaven
Great souls are greater, and if God bestow
A mighty love He will not let it die
Through the vast ages of eternity.