 | A pageant of poets and other poems |  |
57
TO F. W. G.
(Died in sleep, Oct. 1929)
Happy are they—the men of temperate mind,
Staunch as the magnet through the years of stress;
Of counsel wise; supreme in faithfulness;
Trusted by all, in tangled ways and blind,—
Beset in perilous straits before, behind,—
To steer by compass true, nor more, nor less,
Though doubting friends or foes may ban or bless;
Unswerved by storm, unswayed by volleying wind.
Staunch as the magnet through the years of stress;
Of counsel wise; supreme in faithfulness;
Trusted by all, in tangled ways and blind,—
Beset in perilous straits before, behind,—
To steer by compass true, nor more, nor less,
Though doubting friends or foes may ban or bless;
Unswerved by storm, unswayed by volleying wind.
But happiest they of all—that envied band,
Elect of God—who sink at night to sleep,
His tired children, worn with toil or play,
Nor feel Death's fingers o'er their pulses creep,
But wake with wondering eyes upon the strand
Of radiant seas, in a diviner day.
Elect of God—who sink at night to sleep,
His tired children, worn with toil or play,
Nor feel Death's fingers o'er their pulses creep,
But wake with wondering eyes upon the strand
Of radiant seas, in a diviner day.
| A pageant of poets and other poems | |