Roosevelt, 1919

How shall we say “God rest him!” Of him who loved not rest, But the pathless plunge in the forest And the pauseless quest, And the call of the billowing mountains, Crest beyond crest?

Hope rather, God will give him His spirit’s need-- Rapture of ceaseless motion That is rest indeed, As the cataract sleeps on the cliff-side White with speed.

So shall his soul go ranging Forever, swift and wide, With a strong man’s rejoicing, As he loved to ride; But all our days are poorer For the part of him that died.