Upon us, from the verge of some blest shore,
To which our ling'ring steps he would beguile.
An organ pealed from somewhere in the heights
Above us, and a sweet-voiced chorus rang
A "Nunc Dimittis," and from caverns sang
In echo all the list'ning mountain wights.
Uniting fervently in their "amen,"
We stood a moment in the dark'ning gray;
In silence, as the knowing only may,
And then, refreshed, turned to our tasks again.



TO A WILD ROSE

Awake, wild rose, lift up your lovely face
And smile a welcome sweet to one whose days
Were spent of yore in rose-embowered ways,
Where lovingly he marveled at your grace
And found in music lore for you a place,
Telling in tones the world heard with amaze,
How fair you were to his inspiréd gaze.
A grieving people lost him for a space,
And 'round his darkened home there hung a band
Of messengers, half-dreading, day by day,
Lest they should bear sad tidings o'er the land.
But now, as Nature wakes, joy hath full sway.
MacDowell lives! Grim death could not withstand
The tide of loving thought that flowed his way.