This raised the gorge of Lucifer. With one deep "Bah," Above those croaking toads he towered like Gabriel;
Then straightway left the table and went home to hell.
(WRITTEN FOR THE RELIEF FUND OF THE CRIMEAN VETERANS.)
When the last charge sounds And the battle thunders o'er the plain, Thunders o'er the trenches where the red streams flow, Will it not be well with us, Veterans, veterans, If, beneath your torn old flag, we burst upon the foe?
When the last post sounds And the night is on the battle-field, Night and rest at last from all the tumult of our wars, Will it not be well with us, Veterans, veterans, If, with duty done like yours, we lie beneath the stars?
When the great reveille sounds For the terrible last Sabaoth, All the legions of the dead shall hear the trumpet ring! Will it not be well with us, Veterans, veterans, If, beneath your torn old flag, we rise to meet our King?
It is too soon, too soon, though time be brief, Quite to forswear thy quest, O Light, whose farewell dyes the falling leaf, Fades thro' the fading west.
Thou'rt flown too soon! I stretch my hands out still, O, Light of Life, to Thee, Who leav'st an Olivet in each far blue hill, A sorrow on every sea.
It is too soon, here while the loud world roars For wealth and power and fame, Too soon quite to forget those other shores Afar, from whence I came;
Too soon even to forget the first dear dream Dreamed far away, when tears could freely flow; And life seemed infinite, as that sky's great gleam Deepened, to which I go;
Too soon even to forget the fluttering fire And those old books beside the friendly hearth, When time seemed endless as my own desire, And angels walked our earth;
Too soon quite to forget amid the throng What once the silent hills, the sounding beach Taught me--where singing was the prize of song, And heaven within my reach.
It is too soon amid the cynic sneers, The sophist smiles, the greedy mouths and hands, Quite to forget the light of those dead years And my lost mountain-lands;
Too soon to lose that everlasting hope (For so it seemed) of youth in love's pure reign, Though while I linger on this darkening slope Nought seems quite worth the pain.
It is too soon for me to break that trust, O, Light of Light, flown far past sun and moon, Burn back thro' this dark panoply of dust; Or let me follow--soon.