THE BURIAL
C. J. Rhodes, buried in the Matoppos,April 10, 1902
Whenthat great Kings return to clay,Or Emperors in their pride,Grief of a day shall fill a day,Because its creature died.But we—we reckon not with thoseWhom the mere Fates ordain,This Power that wrought on us and goesBack to the Power again.Dreamer devout, by vision ledBeyond our guess or reach,The travail of his spirit bredCities in place of speech.So huge the all-mastering thought that drove—So brief the term allowed—Nations, not words, he linked to proveHis faith before the crowd.It is his will that he look forthAcross the world he won—The granite of the ancient North—Great spaces washed with sun.There shall he patient make his seat(As when the Death he dared),And there await a people’s feetIn the paths that he prepared.There, till the vision he foresawSplendid and whole arise,And unimagined Empires drawTo council ’neath his skies,The immense and brooding Spirit stillShall quicken and control.Living he was the land, and dead,His soul shall be her soul!
Whenthat great Kings return to clay,Or Emperors in their pride,Grief of a day shall fill a day,Because its creature died.But we—we reckon not with thoseWhom the mere Fates ordain,This Power that wrought on us and goesBack to the Power again.Dreamer devout, by vision ledBeyond our guess or reach,The travail of his spirit bredCities in place of speech.So huge the all-mastering thought that drove—So brief the term allowed—Nations, not words, he linked to proveHis faith before the crowd.It is his will that he look forthAcross the world he won—The granite of the ancient North—Great spaces washed with sun.There shall he patient make his seat(As when the Death he dared),And there await a people’s feetIn the paths that he prepared.There, till the vision he foresawSplendid and whole arise,And unimagined Empires drawTo council ’neath his skies,The immense and brooding Spirit stillShall quicken and control.Living he was the land, and dead,His soul shall be her soul!
Whenthat great Kings return to clay,Or Emperors in their pride,Grief of a day shall fill a day,Because its creature died.But we—we reckon not with thoseWhom the mere Fates ordain,This Power that wrought on us and goesBack to the Power again.
Dreamer devout, by vision ledBeyond our guess or reach,The travail of his spirit bredCities in place of speech.So huge the all-mastering thought that drove—So brief the term allowed—Nations, not words, he linked to proveHis faith before the crowd.
It is his will that he look forthAcross the world he won—The granite of the ancient North—Great spaces washed with sun.There shall he patient make his seat(As when the Death he dared),And there await a people’s feetIn the paths that he prepared.
There, till the vision he foresawSplendid and whole arise,And unimagined Empires drawTo council ’neath his skies,The immense and brooding Spirit stillShall quicken and control.Living he was the land, and dead,His soul shall be her soul!