 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
223
ADDENDA.
IN MEMORIAM.
With reverence, gently bear away,
This brave old man of many years;
And in the graveyard's bosom, lay
His manly form, with sorrowing tears.
This brave old man of many years;
And in the graveyard's bosom, lay
His manly form, with sorrowing tears.
For he, beyond life's common span,
With us has lived and walked abroad;
Has filled the measure of a man,—
Love to his neighbor, faith in God.
With us has lived and walked abroad;
Has filled the measure of a man,—
Love to his neighbor, faith in God.
His cheerful voice we hear no more,
No more, his sturdy form we meet,
Passing along from to door door,
Upon our busy village street.
No more, his sturdy form we meet,
Passing along from to door door,
Upon our busy village street.
With courage true, that never quailed,
He marched, his country to defend.
And who can point, wherein he failed,
As husband, father, brother, friend.
He marched, his country to defend.
And who can point, wherein he failed,
As husband, father, brother, friend.
224
In public life, no venal stain,
Dimmed the fair scutcheon of his name;
Nor sought he wealth, or power to gain,
At cost of honor, truth, or fame.
Dimmed the fair scutcheon of his name;
Nor sought he wealth, or power to gain,
At cost of honor, truth, or fame.
With generous, noble, cheerful heart,
In conscious rectitude, he stood,
Nor ever shunned to bear his part,
Against the wrong, and for the good.
In conscious rectitude, he stood,
Nor ever shunned to bear his part,
Against the wrong, and for the good.
Thus lived he, four score years and more;
And died, with an unfaltering trust.
With him, the toils of life are o'er.
He rests among the good and just.
And died, with an unfaltering trust.
With him, the toils of life are o'er.
He rests among the good and just.
225
HYMN.
There is a life of endless bliss,
Far in the spirit sphere,
A better home by far than this,
Of purer love than here.
Far in the spirit sphere,
A better home by far than this,
Of purer love than here.
Peace, like a river broad and deep,
O'erflows that happy land,
And gales of heavenly rapture sweep
Along its blooming strand.
O'erflows that happy land,
And gales of heavenly rapture sweep
Along its blooming strand.
Celestial mansions, bright and fair,
In glorious grandeur rise,
The gardens of the Lord are there,—
The vales of paradise.
In glorious grandeur rise,
The gardens of the Lord are there,—
The vales of paradise.
O let us tread the blessed road
Of goodness, truth and love,
Led by the spirit of our God,
To that pure home above.
Of goodness, truth and love,
Led by the spirit of our God,
To that pure home above.
226
WAR.
This mighty stream of life that glides
Through earth's unnumbered human forms,
Like the great ocean's heaving tides,
Is restless, dark and wild, with storms.
Through earth's unnumbered human forms,
Like the great ocean's heaving tides,
Is restless, dark and wild, with storms.
Look backward o'er its dreary track,
Till lost in distance, dim and gray,
And mark the ruin and the wrack,
That cumber all the endless way.
Till lost in distance, dim and gray,
And mark the ruin and the wrack,
That cumber all the endless way.
How many empires, wide and vast,
That once in power and glory stood,
Have human passions downward cast,
And whelmed beneath a sea of blood?
That once in power and glory stood,
Have human passions downward cast,
And whelmed beneath a sea of blood?
What hosts has persecution's rage
Doomed to a bitter death of shame;
In every land and every age,
Dear Lord, what myriads in thy name?
Doomed to a bitter death of shame;
In every land and every age,
Dear Lord, what myriads in thy name?
227
And still the nations, near and far,
Shape at the forge, with ceaseless toil,
The horrid implements of war.
And drench with human blood the soil.
Shape at the forge, with ceaseless toil,
The horrid implements of war.
And drench with human blood the soil.
If more artistic than of yore,
More dread is war's wild rush than then,
And deeper still the flood of gore,
That oft' o'erflows the paths of men.
More dread is war's wild rush than then,
And deeper still the flood of gore,
That oft' o'erflows the paths of men.
O, when shall that calm, happy time,
By ancient seers long since foretold,
In every land and every clime,
Its white and holy wings unfold?
By ancient seers long since foretold,
In every land and every clime,
Its white and holy wings unfold?
When nations shall learn war no more;
No more its enginery design;
But sit in peace the wide world o'er,
Beneath the fig tree and the vine.
No more its enginery design;
But sit in peace the wide world o'er,
Beneath the fig tree and the vine.
Or, is it but an idle dream,
In which our thoughts some solace find;
A passing meteor's fitful gleam,
To cheer the hope, but cheat the mind.
In which our thoughts some solace find;
A passing meteor's fitful gleam,
To cheer the hope, but cheat the mind.
O, no, there yet shall rise a day,
Borne on the fleeting wings of time,
When over all, with gentle sway,
The Prince of Peace shall rule sublime.
Borne on the fleeting wings of time,
When over all, with gentle sway,
The Prince of Peace shall rule sublime.
228
SONNET.
“And Pilate said unto him, What is Truth?”—
John's Gospel.
John's Gospel.
“Canst thou by searching find out God?”—
Job.
Job.
When Pilate asked the question, “What is Truth?”
Earth's mightiest Seer and Teacher answered not.
Could not He answer, whose ethereal thought
Confounded doctors in his callow youth?
Upon this question, still mankind divide,
And have divided, through each passing age.
Philosopher and prophet, saint and sage,
Have failed alike the problem to decide.
Great men have toiled and dreamed through many a year.
And writ huge tomes, the mystery to explain;
Thick on the track of history they appear,
And show how vain the toil, the thought how vain,
For, still unscaled, ascends the Imperial throne,
Where perfect truth abides with God alone.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |