To You Who Have Lost
I know! I know!—
The ceaseless ache, the emptiness, the woe,—
The pang of loss,—
The strength that sinks beneath so sore a cross.
“—Heedless and careless, still the world wags on,
And leaves me broken... Oh, my son! my son!”
Yet—think of this!—
Yea, rather think on this!—
He died as few men get the chance to die,—
Fighting to save a world’s morality.
He died the noblest death a man may die,
Fighting for God, and Right, and Liberty;—
And such a death is Immortality.
“He died unnoticed in the muddy trench.”
Nay,—God was with him, and he did not blench;
Filled him with holy fires that nought could quench,
And when He saw his work below was done,
He gently called to him,—"My son! My son!
I need thee for a greater work than this.
Thy faith, thy zeal, thy fine activities
Are worthy of My larger liberties;"—
—Then drew him with the hand of welcoming grace,
And, side by side, they climbed the heavenly ways.
