| Show WHITTIER DYING ath the mist of amethyst i that faints upon the sea the sun moves move aUke like a musing eod cod i what sacred sight eight sees he the goldenrod eolden rolden rod doth gravely nod cod I 1 unto the beckoning bay bar i the aster watches for a sign what ails the happy dayt day on oa its pale lip a finger tip the stern white immortelle lays laya softly like one murmuring hushi hush ask not Itt It lawelL swell smile ye or weep ye cannot keep the secret that yo ye hold deep hearted autumn that be loveal the solemn word la Is told wind of the north it has gone forth breath of the pines ines he dim dies ye va had eternal kinships kin ships right to kiss his bis closing eyes to us who love as men may lovi lova tender and loyal ital he be but bat nature was his confidante confidant sole intimate was she we kneel afar where thousands are gray light la is on the grass the tide Is calling from the elob ebb lord let the great saal fassl pass thou thoa spirit who in spirit and in truth worship utterly the unseen god thine age the blossom of a stainless lew youth thy soul the star that swing aw ings dabove above therod the sod no prayer to heaven ever lighter rose than thy pure life escaped arideth now thou like a chord chard unto its close thou celsest as thi he amen to avow sacred the passion flower of thy fame to thee the obedient write the angel eaith proudly lifes honest hopes preserve thy name thou poet of the peoples christian faith master of our oar idler verse shall burn with shame before thee beauty dedicated dedi catel prophet of god we write upon thine urn who being genius held it consecrate to starving spirits needing heavenly bread the tha bond or free with wrong or right at strife to quiet teats tears of mourners comforted by music set unto ete eternal rual life these are thine ushers at the silent gate to these appealing thee wo we give in trust glad beardi forgive unto us desolated desolate the sob with which we leave thy sacred red dust ell elizabeth beth S phelps in atlantic monthly |
