THE LAST BULLETIN.
179
"If this be life, what matter how it flies;
What strength or power or glory crowns a name;
What noble meed of honesty or fame,
Since all these gifts were his,—and there he lies
What strength or power or glory crowns a name;
What noble meed of honesty or fame,
Since all these gifts were his,—and there he lies
Blighted by malice! Woe's the day! and dead
While yet the fields of his most golden prime
Are rich in all the pomp of summer time,
With all their ripening wealth unharvested!"
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Thus fares it with our Liege? Nay, doubting soul,
Not thus; but grandly raised to nobler height
Of strength and power and most divine delight,—
At one swift breath made beautiful and whole!
While yet the fields of his most golden prime
Are rich in all the pomp of summer time,
With all their ripening wealth unharvested!"
·······
Thus fares it with our Liege? Nay, doubting soul,
Not thus; but grandly raised to nobler height
Of strength and power and most divine delight,—
At one swift breath made beautiful and whole!
Nor mocked by broken hope or shattered plan,
By some pale ghost of duty left undone,
By haunting moments wasted one by one,
But crowned with that which best becometh man.
By some pale ghost of duty left undone,
By haunting moments wasted one by one,
But crowned with that which best becometh man.
