Written After Having A Hemorrhage From The Lungs

Written a short time before his death and handed to his wife with the request, “Do not open this until I am well, or until my death.”

Life bloomed for me as if my path thro’ Eden Led its flowery way. Success had crowned In many ways my efforts. No dark strife With adverse Fate its portent shadows cast Across the calm blue scope of heaven. And though Pride often chafed at plain commercial life, It was but transient, for ambitious Hope Kept ever in my view Fame’s gilded dome, Upon whose highest pinnacle I chose my niche, For vain conceit had whispered in my ear That I had Genius to encharm the world, And I looked forward to the loud applause Of nations as a simple thing of time. Of death I thought but as a fright for those Who have no destiny but dying. Mine Would come in age, but as a pallid seal To Honor gained, and Life’s long labors done. Yet I had felt the breath of Asrael’s wing When from my youthful head he took my father’s hand, And from my manhood’s arms my only child, And down the past a little mound of earth, Tombed with the darkest sorrow of our hearts, Still stands, though veiling in the folds of time. Of heaven I thought but as a distant home, A place of sweetest rest that I would gain, When weary of the burden of the world. Thus gay of thought and bright of hope, I moved Amid the flowers of my way. At once, With scarce a rustle in the rose leaves, came A shadowy form, and standing silently Before my pathway, breathed a whispered sigh, As if it loathed its office to perform; Then laid Consumption’s ghastly banner on my breast, Its pale folds crossed with fatal red. The sky Grew dark, the rose leaves withered, as the form Withdrew, still silently; while I, alone Upon the roadside, kneeled to pray for light. The stunned surprise of sudden shattered hopes, The faith of self-appointed destiny, Still turned my eyes toward the Temple Fame. Across its gilded dome a spotless cloud Had drifted, hiding it from view, but lo! The cloud, unfolding snowy depths, disclosed The glories of that “House not made with hands,” And bending from it, so full of tenderness, I could discern the loved ones “gone before.” And over all I recognized the Form Whose brow endured Gabbatha’s shameful crown, Whose woe distilled itself in trickling blood, By Cedron’s murmuring wave. As tenderly As ever mother touched her babe, He bore Within His arms a little angel form, With golden hair and blue expressive eyes, One dimpled hand lay on His willing cheek, While He bent down to meet the sweet caress, The other, with that well-remembered look She kissed, and threw the kiss to me. Then down I bowed my face, and longed to know mine end. ’Twere very sweet to leave all toil and care And join the blessed ones beyond the tide; And still ’twere sweet beyond compare to wait Till eventide with loved ones here, and share Their weal or woe. Then came a flute-like voice That thrilled the solemn air: “Pursue thy way, Yet humbly walk and watch, and if I come At midnight, or at noon, be ready.” Thus I wish to live, life’s aims subserved to God; And each continued day and hour regard As special gifts to be improved for Him; To wear the girdle of the world about my loins So loosely that a moment will suffice To break the clasp, and lay it down.