AH, master! art thou gone?
Then Beauty's lonely left;
Truth widowed and bereft
In weeds now walks alone.
Nay, nay, he is not gone,
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Nor Beauty lonely left,
Nor is God's Truth bereft;
True work for aye goes on.
Since this great soul has been
The mountain grander towers,
The river's rush o'erpowers,
And Nature dwells with men;
The songs of birds are sweeter,
And e'en the sunshine brighter,
Life's burdens all are lighter,
And life itself completer.
He is not dead or sleeping,
His banners go before us,
His presence hovers o'er us,
His life-work 's in our keeping.
J. MCD.
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