Poems (Hoffman)/A Question
For works with similar titles, see A Question.
A QUESTION
I might have died then,I, who was so nearThe shadowy entrance to the land of peace;And oh, how much of sorrow would have sweptIn a deep river o'er me where I slept;But no, someone prayed long and earnestlyAnd a white angel stooped,Or God's hand reached,And drew me back from rest that men call—death,Yes, drew me back from rest to life's unrest,And could it have been best?
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Wake, Jubal, wake, thou father of song!Thy children mourn, for thy sleep hath been long;Gather the notes from the vocal spheres,And sing of the dead and the living years;Send the first note from thine organ keyTo startle the centuries yet to be.
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Keep fresh the sweet legacies, love, music, beauty,The poetry twined with life's barren thorn-wreath,For hard and bereft were the pathway of dutyWith no sunshine above and no roses beneath.