Classic Poem

SEPTEMBER 7, 1892

HAIL to thee, with all good cheer!
Though men say thou liest here
Dead,
And mourn, all uncomforted.

By thy faith refining mine,
Life still lights those eyes of thine,
Clear
As the Autumn atmosphere.

Ever still thy smile appears
As the rainbow of thy tears
Bent
O'er thy love's vast firmament.

Thou endurest — shalt endure,
Purely, as thy song is pure.
Hear
Thus my hail: Good cheer! good cheer!