The gates of time swing to: Our wisest head, Our soundest heart, our loftiest soul is dead. But death like this, crowning a long success, Gives exaltation to our helplessness, Repeating, louder than all vain lament, 'Gainst death itself the one great argument -- Even this: A man so disciplined in truth, In freedom, labor, courtesy, and ruth, So disciplined, amid earth's age-old wars, To see even here the light of all the stars, Must be, wherever God will have him come, With the eternal anywhere at home. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY GARDEN by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN ON GROWING OLD by JOHN MASEFIELD SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT: SPRING by THOMAS NASHE A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM by EDGAR ALLAN POE ON THE LIFE OF MAN by WALTER RALEIGH ADVENTURE ON THE WINGS OF MORNING by RACHEL ALBRIGHT HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 43 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |