Classic Poem

Not to grow old—it was her oft-told hope,—
And when at rest not to be thought as lying
There in the ground, upon the grassy slope,
But watching near us with a love undying;
A gentle presence, haunting us to bless,
And soothe our loneliness.

To live, to work, to hope, to greet each day
With cheerful welcome for its lowliest duty,
To suffer patiently the hurts that slay,
To make a life of toil a path of beauty,—
This was the lesson she was wont to trace
Before the proud world's face.

And, for reward, it was enough to meet
A baby's welcome from the daily task;
Love from a few could make the bitter sweet,
Pity from none the brave, proud heart would ask;
And with the burden of the longest mile
Could carry, too, a smile.

A face from which the deepest grief would flee
At loving words, or looks of love unspoken,—
It seems to say: Now let that love for me
Bear its full test, and grief by love be broken;
For Sorrow's fullest blessing ne'er appears
Till Sorrow wipes its tears.

Peace to the snow-white hands that would not rest
Till greater Love had bid their duties cease;
Peace to the fearless sentry in her breast—
To sunny spirit, gentle footsteps, peace!
Echo of storms or words of worldly strife,
Mar not her newer life.

So, as the trees, still shuddering in the gale,
Tremble with song while yet the raindrops fall;
Or as the violet lifts its features pale,
Knowing which way the heavenly forces call;
We fare, as travelers, when the storm is by—
Our sun is in the sky.