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FARTHER horizons every year.”
“ Farther horizons every year." O tossing pines, which surge and wave So he, by reverent hands just laid Above the poet's just made grave, Beneath your layers of waving shade, And waken for his sleeping ear
Climbed as you climb the upward way, The music that he loved to hear,
Knowing not boundary nor stay. Through summer's sun and winter's His eyes surcharged with heavenly chill,
lights, With purpose staunch and dauntless His senses steeped in heavenly sights, will,
His soul attuned to heavenly keys, Sped by a noble discontent
How should he pause for rest or ease, You climb toward the blue firmament: Or turn his winged feet again Climb as the winds climb, mounting high To share the common feasts of men ? The viewless ladders of the sky;
He blessed them with his word and Spurning our lower atmosphere,
smile Heavy with sighs and dense with night, But, still above their fickle moods, And urging upward, year by year, Wooing, constraining him, the while To ampler air, diviner light.
Beckoned the shining altitudes.
“ Farther horizons every year."
“Farther horizons every year." Beneath you pass the tribes of men ; To what immeasurable height, Your gracious boughs o'ershadow them. What clear irradiance of light, You hear, but do not seem to heed, What far and all-transcendent goal, Their jarring speech, their faulty creed. Hast thou now risen, O steadfast soul ! Your roots are firmly set in soil
We may not follow with our eyes Won from their humming paths of toil ; To where the further pathway lies; Content their lives to watch and share, Nor guess what vision, vast and free, To serve them, shelter, and upbear, God keeps in store for souls like thee. Yet but to win an upward way
But still the sentry pines, which wave And larger gift of heaven than they, Their boughs above thy honored grave, Benignant view and attitude,
Shall be thy emblems brave and fit, Close knowledge of celestial sign; Firm rooted in the stalwart sod ; Still working for all earthly good, Blessing the earth, while spurning it, While pressing on to the Divine.
Content with nothing short of God.
May 31, 1882
Publishers : Houghton, Mifflin Soo Co., Boston
We shall walk to more through the sorten plain