Classic Poem

JUDGE James MORRISON .

G ONE , O my friend! not for a little space,
To sojourn in some pleasant foreign land,
Whence we may hope to see again thy face,
To clasp again thy hand.

Ah, no! The yule-fire on thy hearth may burn;
Friends meet around thy table, as of yore;
But they will watch and wait for thy return
To the old home no more.

Thy trees and garden bowers will bud and bloom;
Summer will bring the song of bird and bee,
Soft lights and shadows, blossoms and perfume,
But nevermore for thee.

Gone, and the world is poorer by the loss
Of one high, generous heart and noble mind,
Tried as by fire, and purified from dross
As fine gold is refined.

O earnest worker! true in word and deed,
Through all the years that God appointed thee,
Sowing in field and fallow precious seed,
For harvests yet to be;

Walking through storm and sun, in faith sublime,
By the still waters, by the arid waste,
Leaving no track upon the shore of Time
That we could wish effaced;

Thy path grew brighter to the perfect day,
Thy death triumphant crowned a life complete —
A life whose light revealed the better way
To our uncertain feet.

We sorrow not for thee, O ransomed soul!
But for our lives, so lonely, so bereft —
Not for the victor crowned within the goal,
But for the void he left.

Yet, looking through the shadows cold and gray,
By Faith we see the glory thou hast won;
Hold up our empty hands to Heaven and say,
" Father, Thy will be done. "

We shall not stay behind thee long, dear friend,
For every dawning day and closing night
Our road hath fewer mile-stones, and the end
Lies just beyond our sight.

Soon we shall finish what we find to do,
Soon our last hour shall toll its parting knell.
Till then, O friend, long tried and ever true,
Farewell! farewell! farewell!