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IN MEMORIAM.

PRAISE to God for the fight so bravely fought !
Praise to God for the work so truly wrought!
Help to the weak-arm'd, strength to the feeble-kneed
O thou thinker of many a noble thought,
O thou doer of many a noble deed!

WHY?

I SAID
"I will serve my God and man."
So I took my life and wrencht it away
From things it clung to, as life so can,
The beautiful things of dawn and day
And scent and music; and in the gray
Dim twilight kept it. But lo, it began
To cry for its beautiful reds and blues,
And moan'd and sobb'd as the moments ran
Into hours and days, and I would not choose
Aught else but the sad and sober hues.
And my life was fain for the joyous shout
Of youth and spring, and I husht it then
And said, "Thou must serve thy God and men !
So life, my life, be content without

The things that thy fellows may not have;
Sell all and give to the poor, and crave

No more, for the night-time cometh, and then
No man can work : toil on and slave e;
Thrice pitiless to thine own self be;
God's pity is enough for thee."

K

But I could not still its murmuring,
And at last, at last, I brought it back
To the dear old world, and bade it cling

To the beauty and brightness; but, dull and slack,
Its tendrils dropped away from each thing
They were wont to clasp ; and I moan'd "Alack!
What matter to me if the sky be black

And the song-birds droop with broken wing?
Oh woe is me that I cannot care!

I sit dull-eyed, with faded hair,

And I cannot weep and I cannot sing,
And I care not to serve God or men,

I care not either to work or wait.

The shadows are falling, it groweth late,

The night-time cometh, and soon; what then?"

AT EVENING.

I SIT alone in the evening,
Alone in the waning light;
And I wait for my lady's coming
To comfort my soul to-night.

She comes in her noble beauty,
In her tenderness and truth;

Her Love and Death have gifted
With everlasting youth.

God's light on her gracious forehead; God's peace in her joyous eyes; God's comfort that goes out from her To cheer and to harmonise.

My life is full and busy,

For its love runs deep and wide; But here, in my lady's presence,

It keepeth a sabbathtide.

And softly the shadows of evening
On our blessed commune fall,
Till the children's voices call me
Away to the mirth-fill'd hall.

I go to play with the children,
And close to my heart I hold
That one little shining ringlet,
That soft little curl of gold.

I took it the night she lay dying
From the head on my breast that lay,

That precious memory-token

Of a love that is mine for aye.

She never will think I forget her,

Though our laughter ring loud and wild ; She loves me to play with the children, For she had the heart of a child.

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