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.