THEY brought his body to the shore Across a thousand leagues of sea, Like to some merchant prince of yore, A master of the things that be. Though vanquished in the final strife, He was a victor, for he passed Not the grim threshold till from life He wrung its bounties to the last. And gazing back upon his span At eve, he saw and was content: His day was worthy of a man, A faithful steward's, wisely spent. Death, though it slew him, left no sting: He conquered fortune and he won Men's hearts. Then, spare your tears, and bring Bright garlands garnered in the sun! Not downcast men nor gloomy thought, But gladness and the song of birds, The memory of his deeds well-wrought, His gentle smile, his kindly words. Great was his soul. He gave thereof, He clung not to the golden clod And, through the miracle of love, Rose, spite that Needle's Eye, to God. |