Hushed is the magic of his touchThat waked the soul to joyous praise!The vibrant strain we loved so muchStill echoes on throughout the days;Days that had sped in steady roundThrilled by the songs his bow had bound.Stilled is the music to our ears.In higher cycles, we believe,Brighter than earthly crown appearsHis genius, and shall meed receive:While in a rarer, fuller light,His touch still wakens to delight.Then is he not as one who diesAnd whose brief day is ended here;For, in those worlds which Time defies,His melody grows still more clear;Then is he not as one whose lightIs darkened by Death's envious night!Thus while we wear within our thoughtThe beauty of his god-like artThat here in eager longing soughtTo voice the music in his heart,O bear in mind no truth divineOf art is lost—it needs must shineAcross the waste of shipwrecked livesAs o'er the brightest path below;Where'er its meaning steadfast strivesTo sing its measure's stately flow,For Life is art—as art is Life—And soars above unequal strife!He gave to man the measure freeThe gods had given to his soul;And, touched to deeper ecstasy,Bound Music to his sweet control.O Artist true! we deem thy deathBut entrance into fuller breath.But fuller grasp of thy great work;But deeper draughts from wells divine,Where disappointment ne'er may lurk,Where round thy head the glories shineWhich crowns endeavor firm and true,And gives thee roses—never rue!Here do we leave thee with thy browEncircled with the roses sweet;Victory's token, crowning nowThine art with all our praises meet;Here do we leave thee, victor still,For Art bends not to Death's stern will!
Hushed is the magic of his touchThat waked the soul to joyous praise!The vibrant strain we loved so muchStill echoes on throughout the days;Days that had sped in steady roundThrilled by the songs his bow had bound.Stilled is the music to our ears.In higher cycles, we believe,Brighter than earthly crown appearsHis genius, and shall meed receive:While in a rarer, fuller light,His touch still wakens to delight.Then is he not as one who diesAnd whose brief day is ended here;For, in those worlds which Time defies,His melody grows still more clear;Then is he not as one whose lightIs darkened by Death's envious night!Thus while we wear within our thoughtThe beauty of his god-like artThat here in eager longing soughtTo voice the music in his heart,O bear in mind no truth divineOf art is lost—it needs must shineAcross the waste of shipwrecked livesAs o'er the brightest path below;Where'er its meaning steadfast strivesTo sing its measure's stately flow,For Life is art—as art is Life—And soars above unequal strife!He gave to man the measure freeThe gods had given to his soul;And, touched to deeper ecstasy,Bound Music to his sweet control.O Artist true! we deem thy deathBut entrance into fuller breath.But fuller grasp of thy great work;But deeper draughts from wells divine,Where disappointment ne'er may lurk,Where round thy head the glories shineWhich crowns endeavor firm and true,And gives thee roses—never rue!Here do we leave thee with thy browEncircled with the roses sweet;Victory's token, crowning nowThine art with all our praises meet;Here do we leave thee, victor still,For Art bends not to Death's stern will!
Hushed is the magic of his touchThat waked the soul to joyous praise!The vibrant strain we loved so muchStill echoes on throughout the days;Days that had sped in steady roundThrilled by the songs his bow had bound.
Hushed is the magic of his touch
That waked the soul to joyous praise!
The vibrant strain we loved so much
Still echoes on throughout the days;
Days that had sped in steady round
Thrilled by the songs his bow had bound.
Stilled is the music to our ears.In higher cycles, we believe,Brighter than earthly crown appearsHis genius, and shall meed receive:While in a rarer, fuller light,His touch still wakens to delight.
Stilled is the music to our ears.
In higher cycles, we believe,
Brighter than earthly crown appears
His genius, and shall meed receive:
While in a rarer, fuller light,
His touch still wakens to delight.
Then is he not as one who diesAnd whose brief day is ended here;For, in those worlds which Time defies,His melody grows still more clear;Then is he not as one whose lightIs darkened by Death's envious night!
Then is he not as one who dies
And whose brief day is ended here;
For, in those worlds which Time defies,
His melody grows still more clear;
Then is he not as one whose light
Is darkened by Death's envious night!
Thus while we wear within our thoughtThe beauty of his god-like artThat here in eager longing soughtTo voice the music in his heart,O bear in mind no truth divineOf art is lost—it needs must shine
Thus while we wear within our thought
The beauty of his god-like art
That here in eager longing sought
To voice the music in his heart,
O bear in mind no truth divine
Of art is lost—it needs must shine
Across the waste of shipwrecked livesAs o'er the brightest path below;Where'er its meaning steadfast strivesTo sing its measure's stately flow,For Life is art—as art is Life—And soars above unequal strife!
Across the waste of shipwrecked lives
As o'er the brightest path below;
Where'er its meaning steadfast strives
To sing its measure's stately flow,
For Life is art—as art is Life—
And soars above unequal strife!
He gave to man the measure freeThe gods had given to his soul;And, touched to deeper ecstasy,Bound Music to his sweet control.O Artist true! we deem thy deathBut entrance into fuller breath.
He gave to man the measure free
The gods had given to his soul;
And, touched to deeper ecstasy,
Bound Music to his sweet control.
O Artist true! we deem thy death
But entrance into fuller breath.
But fuller grasp of thy great work;But deeper draughts from wells divine,Where disappointment ne'er may lurk,Where round thy head the glories shineWhich crowns endeavor firm and true,And gives thee roses—never rue!
But fuller grasp of thy great work;
But deeper draughts from wells divine,
Where disappointment ne'er may lurk,
Where round thy head the glories shine
Which crowns endeavor firm and true,
And gives thee roses—never rue!
Here do we leave thee with thy browEncircled with the roses sweet;Victory's token, crowning nowThine art with all our praises meet;Here do we leave thee, victor still,For Art bends not to Death's stern will!
Here do we leave thee with thy brow
Encircled with the roses sweet;
Victory's token, crowning now
Thine art with all our praises meet;
Here do we leave thee, victor still,
For Art bends not to Death's stern will!
In Memoriam
(Wm. McKinley, Sept. 14, 1901.)
The nation weeps, while through the stricken landStalks the grim specter raised by traitor hand;And on the air there rises dire lamentFor vigil, suffering and life now spent.Lo! through the tumult comes that voice of trustFrom soul of mortal triumphing o'er dust:"God's will, not ours;" O hero strongTo rise above the thought of burning wrongDealt by a dastard's hand! O spirit brightSeeing, while here, the heavy cross grow light,"His will be done; His guiding hand my way!"That heart, yet bound by racking pain, could say.The nation weeps. Anger and grief upliftOn high their hands; O from this pain to siftSome grain of comfort and some thought of rest!Again those tender words, "God knoweth best."As man, not free from earthly fault was he,For mortal man may not perfection see;But yet, as man, he bore full well his partAnd freely spent his wealth of brain and heart.E'en as we think of him the silent landDraws near, and dimly by his bed there standLincoln and Garfield, now henceforth to beWith him a martyr-trio grand and free.The nation weeps; O hearts be comforted!He needs no more your words, so feebly said;He heeds no more your thoughts of praise or blame,For he hath won for'er a higher fame.Soldier of cross and battlefield, his deathHath taught humanity that fleeting breathOf mortal glory here is but a slender span,And brief, indeed, on earth the life of man!Dear earth enfold him in your restful armsAnd guard him well, though past are all alarms;E'en though, while now at rest he calmly sleeps,The nation weeps! The stricken nation weeps!
The nation weeps, while through the stricken landStalks the grim specter raised by traitor hand;And on the air there rises dire lamentFor vigil, suffering and life now spent.Lo! through the tumult comes that voice of trustFrom soul of mortal triumphing o'er dust:"God's will, not ours;" O hero strongTo rise above the thought of burning wrongDealt by a dastard's hand! O spirit brightSeeing, while here, the heavy cross grow light,"His will be done; His guiding hand my way!"That heart, yet bound by racking pain, could say.The nation weeps. Anger and grief upliftOn high their hands; O from this pain to siftSome grain of comfort and some thought of rest!Again those tender words, "God knoweth best."As man, not free from earthly fault was he,For mortal man may not perfection see;But yet, as man, he bore full well his partAnd freely spent his wealth of brain and heart.E'en as we think of him the silent landDraws near, and dimly by his bed there standLincoln and Garfield, now henceforth to beWith him a martyr-trio grand and free.The nation weeps; O hearts be comforted!He needs no more your words, so feebly said;He heeds no more your thoughts of praise or blame,For he hath won for'er a higher fame.Soldier of cross and battlefield, his deathHath taught humanity that fleeting breathOf mortal glory here is but a slender span,And brief, indeed, on earth the life of man!Dear earth enfold him in your restful armsAnd guard him well, though past are all alarms;E'en though, while now at rest he calmly sleeps,The nation weeps! The stricken nation weeps!
The nation weeps, while through the stricken landStalks the grim specter raised by traitor hand;And on the air there rises dire lamentFor vigil, suffering and life now spent.Lo! through the tumult comes that voice of trustFrom soul of mortal triumphing o'er dust:"God's will, not ours;" O hero strongTo rise above the thought of burning wrongDealt by a dastard's hand! O spirit brightSeeing, while here, the heavy cross grow light,"His will be done; His guiding hand my way!"That heart, yet bound by racking pain, could say.The nation weeps. Anger and grief upliftOn high their hands; O from this pain to siftSome grain of comfort and some thought of rest!Again those tender words, "God knoweth best."As man, not free from earthly fault was he,For mortal man may not perfection see;But yet, as man, he bore full well his partAnd freely spent his wealth of brain and heart.E'en as we think of him the silent landDraws near, and dimly by his bed there standLincoln and Garfield, now henceforth to beWith him a martyr-trio grand and free.The nation weeps; O hearts be comforted!He needs no more your words, so feebly said;He heeds no more your thoughts of praise or blame,For he hath won for'er a higher fame.Soldier of cross and battlefield, his deathHath taught humanity that fleeting breathOf mortal glory here is but a slender span,And brief, indeed, on earth the life of man!Dear earth enfold him in your restful armsAnd guard him well, though past are all alarms;E'en though, while now at rest he calmly sleeps,The nation weeps! The stricken nation weeps!
The nation weeps, while through the stricken land
Stalks the grim specter raised by traitor hand;
And on the air there rises dire lament
For vigil, suffering and life now spent.
Lo! through the tumult comes that voice of trust
From soul of mortal triumphing o'er dust:
"God's will, not ours;" O hero strong
To rise above the thought of burning wrong
Dealt by a dastard's hand! O spirit bright
Seeing, while here, the heavy cross grow light,
"His will be done; His guiding hand my way!"
That heart, yet bound by racking pain, could say.
The nation weeps. Anger and grief uplift
On high their hands; O from this pain to sift
Some grain of comfort and some thought of rest!
Again those tender words, "God knoweth best."
As man, not free from earthly fault was he,
For mortal man may not perfection see;
But yet, as man, he bore full well his part
And freely spent his wealth of brain and heart.
E'en as we think of him the silent land
Draws near, and dimly by his bed there stand
Lincoln and Garfield, now henceforth to be
With him a martyr-trio grand and free.
The nation weeps; O hearts be comforted!
He needs no more your words, so feebly said;
He heeds no more your thoughts of praise or blame,
For he hath won for'er a higher fame.
Soldier of cross and battlefield, his death
Hath taught humanity that fleeting breath
Of mortal glory here is but a slender span,
And brief, indeed, on earth the life of man!
Dear earth enfold him in your restful arms
And guard him well, though past are all alarms;
E'en though, while now at rest he calmly sleeps,
The nation weeps! The stricken nation weeps!
(Charles Henshaw Dana.)
The lilies clustered fair and tall;I stood outside the garden wall.
The lilies clustered fair and tall;I stood outside the garden wall.
The lilies clustered fair and tall;I stood outside the garden wall.
The lilies clustered fair and tall;
I stood outside the garden wall.
—Celia Thaxter.
Life's lilies grew along his way,In beauty clad, from day to day;While music, with her lovely strains,Led him a captive in her chains.And friends with generous hand and thoughtUnto his fireside greetings brought."I would have given my life to beThe rose she touched so tenderly."So sang the poet, and the toneAwoke for him sweet strains alone.Ah! earthly love, how vain thou artTo still the longings of the heart!The Angel Azrael touched his hand,And life on earth yields the demand;No more he stands "outside the gate,"No more hath need to watch or wait!
Life's lilies grew along his way,In beauty clad, from day to day;While music, with her lovely strains,Led him a captive in her chains.And friends with generous hand and thoughtUnto his fireside greetings brought."I would have given my life to beThe rose she touched so tenderly."So sang the poet, and the toneAwoke for him sweet strains alone.Ah! earthly love, how vain thou artTo still the longings of the heart!The Angel Azrael touched his hand,And life on earth yields the demand;No more he stands "outside the gate,"No more hath need to watch or wait!
Life's lilies grew along his way,In beauty clad, from day to day;
Life's lilies grew along his way,
In beauty clad, from day to day;
While music, with her lovely strains,Led him a captive in her chains.
While music, with her lovely strains,
Led him a captive in her chains.
And friends with generous hand and thoughtUnto his fireside greetings brought.
And friends with generous hand and thought
Unto his fireside greetings brought.
"I would have given my life to beThe rose she touched so tenderly."
"I would have given my life to be
The rose she touched so tenderly."
So sang the poet, and the toneAwoke for him sweet strains alone.
So sang the poet, and the tone
Awoke for him sweet strains alone.
Ah! earthly love, how vain thou artTo still the longings of the heart!
Ah! earthly love, how vain thou art
To still the longings of the heart!
The Angel Azrael touched his hand,And life on earth yields the demand;
The Angel Azrael touched his hand,
And life on earth yields the demand;
No more he stands "outside the gate,"No more hath need to watch or wait!
No more he stands "outside the gate,"
No more hath need to watch or wait!
(M. J. E., Obitt, June 19, 1874.)
Who shall separate that spirit from the blessed love of Christ?He hath called her to Himself for whom the world hath not sufficed.Pure her spirit upward winging now its swift, untrameled way,Far beyond our aching vision, enters that serener day.Patient, pure, she took the burden of this life unto His feet,Who hath called His loved and bid them come unto His presence sweet;All she leaveth, gladly answering her beloved Master's call,And for her the shadowy valley had no terror to appal.Passed unto a life all glorious now a ransomed soul she bides,—Ended all the weary watching,—crossed for aye life's troubled tides;So we leave her now possessing, to the full, Christ's own sweet love,And one more of life's best treasures lives and waits for us above!
Who shall separate that spirit from the blessed love of Christ?He hath called her to Himself for whom the world hath not sufficed.Pure her spirit upward winging now its swift, untrameled way,Far beyond our aching vision, enters that serener day.Patient, pure, she took the burden of this life unto His feet,Who hath called His loved and bid them come unto His presence sweet;All she leaveth, gladly answering her beloved Master's call,And for her the shadowy valley had no terror to appal.Passed unto a life all glorious now a ransomed soul she bides,—Ended all the weary watching,—crossed for aye life's troubled tides;So we leave her now possessing, to the full, Christ's own sweet love,And one more of life's best treasures lives and waits for us above!
Who shall separate that spirit from the blessed love of Christ?He hath called her to Himself for whom the world hath not sufficed.Pure her spirit upward winging now its swift, untrameled way,Far beyond our aching vision, enters that serener day.
Who shall separate that spirit from the blessed love of Christ?
He hath called her to Himself for whom the world hath not sufficed.
Pure her spirit upward winging now its swift, untrameled way,
Far beyond our aching vision, enters that serener day.
Patient, pure, she took the burden of this life unto His feet,Who hath called His loved and bid them come unto His presence sweet;All she leaveth, gladly answering her beloved Master's call,And for her the shadowy valley had no terror to appal.
Patient, pure, she took the burden of this life unto His feet,
Who hath called His loved and bid them come unto His presence sweet;
All she leaveth, gladly answering her beloved Master's call,
And for her the shadowy valley had no terror to appal.
Passed unto a life all glorious now a ransomed soul she bides,—Ended all the weary watching,—crossed for aye life's troubled tides;So we leave her now possessing, to the full, Christ's own sweet love,And one more of life's best treasures lives and waits for us above!
Passed unto a life all glorious now a ransomed soul she bides,—
Ended all the weary watching,—crossed for aye life's troubled tides;
So we leave her now possessing, to the full, Christ's own sweet love,
And one more of life's best treasures lives and waits for us above!
(Into Light. Dec. 4, 1903, 4:50 A. M.)
"It is all right!" Yes, friend, it is all right,Although about thee close the shades of nightTo human eyes. To eyes that wake to lightIt is all right—it is all right!"It is all right." E'en though we miss thee here.For thee are past the clouds, and all the fearBred of this life which shall no more appearTo thee as good; because thy sky is clear."It is all right." Kind soul, so bright and true,We miss thee now, we miss the happy viewOf all that through the days of life here grew.The old hath passed—for thee hath dawned the new."It is all right!" Thy words, as fell the night,Before thine eyes had pierced the coming light,Fall on our ears a benison all bright;We can but say with thee "it is all right!"
"It is all right!" Yes, friend, it is all right,Although about thee close the shades of nightTo human eyes. To eyes that wake to lightIt is all right—it is all right!"It is all right." E'en though we miss thee here.For thee are past the clouds, and all the fearBred of this life which shall no more appearTo thee as good; because thy sky is clear."It is all right." Kind soul, so bright and true,We miss thee now, we miss the happy viewOf all that through the days of life here grew.The old hath passed—for thee hath dawned the new."It is all right!" Thy words, as fell the night,Before thine eyes had pierced the coming light,Fall on our ears a benison all bright;We can but say with thee "it is all right!"
"It is all right!" Yes, friend, it is all right,Although about thee close the shades of nightTo human eyes. To eyes that wake to lightIt is all right—it is all right!
"It is all right!" Yes, friend, it is all right,
Although about thee close the shades of night
To human eyes. To eyes that wake to light
It is all right—it is all right!
"It is all right." E'en though we miss thee here.For thee are past the clouds, and all the fearBred of this life which shall no more appearTo thee as good; because thy sky is clear.
"It is all right." E'en though we miss thee here.
For thee are past the clouds, and all the fear
Bred of this life which shall no more appear
To thee as good; because thy sky is clear.
"It is all right." Kind soul, so bright and true,We miss thee now, we miss the happy viewOf all that through the days of life here grew.The old hath passed—for thee hath dawned the new.
"It is all right." Kind soul, so bright and true,
We miss thee now, we miss the happy view
Of all that through the days of life here grew.
The old hath passed—for thee hath dawned the new.
"It is all right!" Thy words, as fell the night,Before thine eyes had pierced the coming light,Fall on our ears a benison all bright;We can but say with thee "it is all right!"
"It is all right!" Thy words, as fell the night,
Before thine eyes had pierced the coming light,
Fall on our ears a benison all bright;
We can but say with thee "it is all right!"