 | The Triangular Society |  |
377
TOBY.
He was my fondest friend—and he is dead—
Dead in the vigorous fullness of his prime,
Lost to my seeing for all coming time;
Now, ere oblivion close above his head,
Let me look back across our mingled years,
And count how he was worth this heart-ache and these tears.
Dead in the vigorous fullness of his prime,
Lost to my seeing for all coming time;
Now, ere oblivion close above his head,
Let me look back across our mingled years,
And count how he was worth this heart-ache and these tears.
Purer devotion, steadier truth than his,
Not even the most exacting heart could crave;
Demanding little, all he had, he gave,
Nor wronged his love by doubts and jealousies,
But kept his constant faith unto the end,
Kind, loyal, trusting, brave, a true ideal friend.
Not even the most exacting heart could crave;
Demanding little, all he had, he gave,
Nor wronged his love by doubts and jealousies,
But kept his constant faith unto the end,
Kind, loyal, trusting, brave, a true ideal friend.
Envy nor prejudice he never knew,
Nor breathed a syllable of wrath or blame,
Nor wronged by hint or sneer his neighbor's fame,
Nor uttered aught unseemly or untrue;
In all his life-time there was never heard
From his unsullied lips a base or cruel word.
Nor breathed a syllable of wrath or blame,
Nor wronged by hint or sneer his neighbor's fame,
Nor uttered aught unseemly or untrue;
In all his life-time there was never heard
From his unsullied lips a base or cruel word.
He never joined the venal, sordid race
Of politicians, mad with selfish greed;
He never did a vile, uncleanly deed
By man or woman; envied no one's place,
Nor wronged a mortal of a penny's worth;
Should he not rank among the rare ones of the earth?
Of politicians, mad with selfish greed;
He never did a vile, uncleanly deed
By man or woman; envied no one's place,
Nor wronged a mortal of a penny's worth;
Should he not rank among the rare ones of the earth?
378
He never sought the revels of the gay,
Nor strayed where fatal follies spread their snare;
He loved the home-light, and the fireside chair,
When daytime's crowding cares were shut away,
And there, with all he loved in easy reach,
He talked with soft brown eyes, more eloquent than speech.
Nor strayed where fatal follies spread their snare;
He loved the home-light, and the fireside chair,
When daytime's crowding cares were shut away,
And there, with all he loved in easy reach,
He talked with soft brown eyes, more eloquent than speech.
Yet scores of wise men argue and declare
That this, my friend, was but a pinch of dust;
That his warm heart of constancy and trust
Has gone out, like a bubble in the air;
That his true soul of love and watchful care
Is quenched, extinct and lost, and is not, anywhere.
That this, my friend, was but a pinch of dust;
That his warm heart of constancy and trust
Has gone out, like a bubble in the air;
That his true soul of love and watchful care
Is quenched, extinct and lost, and is not, anywhere.
“He had no soul,” they say. What was his power
Of love, remembrance, gratitude and faith?
Do these not triumph over time and death,
And far outlast our life-time's little hour?
Affection, changeless though long cycles roll,
Integrity and trust,—do these not make the soul?
Of love, remembrance, gratitude and faith?
Do these not triumph over time and death,
And far outlast our life-time's little hour?
Affection, changeless though long cycles roll,
Integrity and trust,—do these not make the soul?
If these high attributes in sinful men
Make up the sum of immortality,
Outlive all life and time, and land and sea,
Unfading, deathless,—wherefore is it then,
They are contemned by church and synagogue,
When they inspire and warm the bosom of a dog?
Make up the sum of immortality,
Outlive all life and time, and land and sea,
Unfading, deathless,—wherefore is it then,
They are contemned by church and synagogue,
When they inspire and warm the bosom of a dog?
If baser spirits last, can it be true,
That his dissolved to nothing when he died?
Wherever love lives, must not his abide?
Where faith dwells, shall his faith not enter too?
True hearts are few, and heaven is not so small,
O fond and faithful friend, but it can hold them all!
That his dissolved to nothing when he died?
Wherever love lives, must not his abide?
Where faith dwells, shall his faith not enter too?
True hearts are few, and heaven is not so small,
O fond and faithful friend, but it can hold them all!
379
I have lost many a friend, but never one
So patient, steadfast, and sincere as he,
So unforgetful in his constancy;
Ah, when at last my long day's work is done,
Shall I not find him waiting as of yore,
Eager, expectant, glad, to meet me at the door?
So patient, steadfast, and sincere as he,
So unforgetful in his constancy;
Ah, when at last my long day's work is done,
Shall I not find him waiting as of yore,
Eager, expectant, glad, to meet me at the door?
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