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Show ILICET By THEODOSIA GARRISON. I think the gentle soul of him Goes softly in some garden place, With the old smile time may not dim Upon his face. He who was lover of the Spring, With love that never quite forgets, Surely sees roses blossoming And violets. Now that his day of toil is through, I love to think he sits at ease, With some old volume that he knew Upon his knees. Watching, perhaps, with quiet eyes The white clouds drifting argosy; Or twilight Opening flower-wise On land and sea. He who so loved companionship I may not think walks quite alone, Failing (some friendly hand to slip Within his own. Those whom he loved aforetime, still, I doubt not, bear him company; Yea, even laughter yet may thrill Where he may be. A thought, a fancy who may tell? Yet I who ever pray It so, Feel through my tears that all is well: And this I know, That God is gentle to his guest, And, therefore, may I gladly say, "Surely the things he loved the best Are his today." , From "The Earth Cry and Other Poems." |