Classic Poem

DIED , John B. N ORMAN . Had I read aright?
" Surely, dear Lord, it can not be, " I said;
So full of life and strength but yesternight,
This evening silent, pallid, pulseless, dead!

Perchance he lingers on the verge of life;
Perchance he only sleeps and will awake.
Speak to him tenderly, O stricken wife;
He may reply to thee for love's dear sake.

Nay, in response to thy fond, yearning cry,
He does not lift his hand nor turn his head;
No life-light trembles back to lip or eye,
No heart-pulse stirs in answer. He is dead!

Dead, in the flower and promise of his prime,
While yet his sky was clear, his pathway fair;
Midway the summit he essayed to climb,
Leaving the burden he alone could bear.

O eyes that see no beauty on the earth!
O hearts that drink the wormwood and the gall!
God help ye by your lonely board and hearth,
Since he is gone beyond love's fond recall.

For he was tender, gentle, mild and meek,
And yet, withal determined, brave and strong
To help the helpless, to protect the weak,
Uphold the right and trample down the wrong.

Lacking his gentle voice, his genial face,
Your day has lost its music and its light;
And far away into unmeasured space,
The brightest star has vanished from your night.

Alas, our human eyes can only see
The grave wherein we lay him still and stark;
By that dim portal of the life to be,
We stand like children crying in the dark.

Why was his gentle heart, his gifted mind,
Freighted with hopes and aspirations high
To bear the cup of blessing to mankind,
Called from our midst so soon? O Father, why?

Working and waiting for a brighter day,
For all things good and true that might be won;
Why did he faint and falter by the way?
Why fold his hands before his work was done?

God only knows, He only understands —
We seek to know His wondrous ways in vain;
But all our names are written on His hands,
And some day He will make the mystery plain.

By the Eternal Majesty that said,
" I am the resurrection and the life, "
We know that our beloved friend, though dead,
Still lives beyond this world of gloom and strife.

Still lives, and we shall see his face again,
The same, but shining with angelic light,
When we, too, waken by our Father's grace,
Beyond the sorrows and the shores of night.

And as we go, a sorely stricken band,
To lay him down beneath the senseless sod,
Faith lifts the shadow with her lily hand,
And whispers, " Trust him to the love of God. "