 | Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) |  |
48
MEMORIAL VERSES.
TO COURTLANDT PALMER.
Howe'er we speak of death as of an end
Whose pale oblivion touches all alike,
Still, when some sturdier man of help and use
Deserts the dignities he wore so well
And makes them seem like hollow garments flung
Where late they clad him fair in favored life,
Then those that here on earth have missed him most,
Whether to sadly doubt or strongly trust,
Say, as they grieve and dream, “There should have been
Some loftier and more honored exodus
For such as he, so lifting him elect
Above this cold democracy called death!”
Whose pale oblivion touches all alike,
Still, when some sturdier man of help and use
Deserts the dignities he wore so well
And makes them seem like hollow garments flung
Where late they clad him fair in favored life,
Then those that here on earth have missed him most,
Whether to sadly doubt or strongly trust,
Say, as they grieve and dream, “There should have been
Some loftier and more honored exodus
For such as he, so lifting him elect
Above this cold democracy called death!”
But no; the impartial shears of Atropos
Cut with the same twin blades each mortal strand.
Death has no privilege, no preëmption, no
Allotment, appanage, prerogative.
Over one narrow threshold, with nude feet,
The mightiest or the meanest pass and fade.
Yet always there are gifts the dead may leave
The living, and as I muse on him we mourn,
About the pathos of his absence, rise
Columnar memories, like the marble art
That clothes a temple; for he sought to find,
If rightly I judge, amid the turbulence
And hurry of our brief days, a trysting-spot
Wherein all theories, creeds, philosophies
Might with harmonious intercourse convene,
And win, by mutual tolerance, as time fled,
That wisdom intellect alone may reap
From the fair tree of knowledge, when we slay
Its worm of prejudice that gnaws the root.
“Come, all,” he said, with invitation sweet,
With clarion hospitality, “come, all!
Taste this new liberal sacrament that brooks
Believer, Deist, Pantheist, Atheist, Jew,
And blend in comradeship about its board!
Ye men of church and ritual, guard your tongues
From too impetuous fervors of defence.
Remember that the Christ ye so adore
Was guiltless both of spleen and arrogance!
No hot polemics fumed in Galilee;
No peevish ironies of pulpiteers
Blared rancorous from the ‘Sermon on the Mount.’
Ye men that bow to Science as your god,
Learn self-control and patience from her laws.
Remember Newton and Copernicus
Killed superstition with the sword of truth;
They did not scare it dead with rhetoric.
Hysteria never framed a syllogism,
And logic murders like a gentleman.”
Cut with the same twin blades each mortal strand.
Death has no privilege, no preëmption, no
Allotment, appanage, prerogative.
Over one narrow threshold, with nude feet,
The mightiest or the meanest pass and fade.
Yet always there are gifts the dead may leave
49
About the pathos of his absence, rise
Columnar memories, like the marble art
That clothes a temple; for he sought to find,
If rightly I judge, amid the turbulence
And hurry of our brief days, a trysting-spot
Wherein all theories, creeds, philosophies
Might with harmonious intercourse convene,
And win, by mutual tolerance, as time fled,
That wisdom intellect alone may reap
From the fair tree of knowledge, when we slay
Its worm of prejudice that gnaws the root.
“Come, all,” he said, with invitation sweet,
With clarion hospitality, “come, all!
Taste this new liberal sacrament that brooks
Believer, Deist, Pantheist, Atheist, Jew,
And blend in comradeship about its board!
Ye men of church and ritual, guard your tongues
From too impetuous fervors of defence.
Remember that the Christ ye so adore
Was guiltless both of spleen and arrogance!
No hot polemics fumed in Galilee;
No peevish ironies of pulpiteers
Blared rancorous from the ‘Sermon on the Mount.’
Ye men that bow to Science as your god,
50
Remember Newton and Copernicus
Killed superstition with the sword of truth;
They did not scare it dead with rhetoric.
Hysteria never framed a syllogism,
And logic murders like a gentleman.”
So did he speak, this gatherer of the clans
From many a vale and hill of human thought.
Alas! his falchion and his plaid are now
But silent relics in the lonesome hall
Of recollection. Yet his energy,
His charity, and the incomparable zeal
He kept undaunted in our service, live.
Such tender immortality as his,
Material in these unforsaking friends,
Throws challenge at the skeptic's hardiest doubt.
To-night we are all believers; here, for once,
The agnostic pleads no ignorance of our theme;
A common faith in one high work and wish
Binds us together. May the sanctity
Of such communion pass not from our souls,
But nerve us, in the future, with new force
To ply the unfinished purpose he began!
From many a vale and hill of human thought.
Alas! his falchion and his plaid are now
But silent relics in the lonesome hall
Of recollection. Yet his energy,
His charity, and the incomparable zeal
He kept undaunted in our service, live.
Such tender immortality as his,
Material in these unforsaking friends,
Throws challenge at the skeptic's hardiest doubt.
To-night we are all believers; here, for once,
The agnostic pleads no ignorance of our theme;
A common faith in one high work and wish
Binds us together. May the sanctity
Of such communion pass not from our souls,
But nerve us, in the future, with new force
To ply the unfinished purpose he began!
| Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) | |