True to the promise of thy far-off youth,
When all who loved thee, for thee prophesied
A grand, full life, devoted to the truth,
A noble cause by suffering sanctified.
True to all beauties of the poet-thought
Which made thy youth so eloquent and sweet;
True to all duties which thy manhood brought
To take the room of fancies light and fleet.
True to the steadfast walk and narrow way,
Which thy forefathers of the covenant trod!
True to thy friend in foul or sunny day,
True to thy home, thy country, and thy God;
True to the world, which still is false to thee,
And true to all — as thou art true to me.
True to the vow that bound us in the lane,
That summer evening when the brown bird sang,
Piercing the silence with sweet notes of pain,
While echoes over all the woodland rang.
True to the troth we plighted on that day,
Each to forsake all other for the one;
Cleaving together through the unknown Way,
Till death made void the union then begun.
True to the love brought by a little hand:
True — though the patter of the childish feet
Have passed from earth into the silent land;
Loss hallows love, and love is still complete:
I can lift up mine eyes from teardrops free,
For thou art true to all these things — and me.
