BECAUSE your hand Grew tired and laid the busy brush aside; Because your weary eyes forewent their sight, Shall none of all the pictures you had planned Take form and colour for the world's delight -- Because you died? THE hope that kept Through patient years of uncongenial toil Your spirit's lamp sustained with sacred oil, The dream and the desire that never slept -- Did all the wonder-world that was your art Stop with your heart? A TIME so brief After your long probation, to declare Your hoarded visions -- strangely hard it seems! Is even God so rich beyond belief That he from his eternity could spare Your waiting dreams? HE does not waste. A thought once born, forevermore must live. Bountiful spirit, that so loved to give, With what a high delight you now dispense In glorious largess, without stint or haste, Your opulence! I SEE you guide The hand of some young painter to reveal The truth you lived so many years to feel, Your joy in his achievement doubly deep. Your joy . . . ah, how have we the heart to weep Because you died? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ASPATIA'S SONG, FR. THE MAID'S TRAEGDY by JOHN FLETCHER RIDDLE: SEWING NEEDLE AND THREAD by MOTHER GOOSE FOR CHARLIE'S SAKE by JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 62. AL-MUMIT by EDWIN ARNOLD LOVE'S WISDOM by ALFRED AUSTIN TO A MISSIONARY, WHO ATTENDED ... MEETING OF BIBLE SOCIETY by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |