Poems (Hooper)/In Memory of H. A. C.
IN MEMORY OF H. A. C.
O autumn days of solemn light, And sunsets soft and tender!A shadow on your glory rests, A darkness on your splendor;For, 'neath your golden gleaming skies He lies in dreamless sleeping,Whose praise we fain would speak to-day, Yet cannot speak for weeping.
Alas! the poet's skill is vain! Our feeble voices falterAs we approach with mournful hearts Death's consecrated altar.There's better praise than rhymed dirge, In mournful measure vying—The tears that rain above the turf 'Neath which our lost is lying.
O deeply loved and early doomed! O young, unconscious teacher! By thy pure life and hero death How eloquent a preacher!Vain were your countless gifts, O Earth! To teach his heart repiningWhen on his fading life he saw The dawn of Heaven shining.
Unstained, he rendered up to God His life's unopened blossom;Temptation's many-pointed darts Fell pointless from his bosom.All gifts this world of ours hath To his young life were given,Till God on that pure heart bestowed His last, best blessing—Heaven.
Take him, O Earth! No nobler heart Lies cold within thy grasping.Take him, O Heaven! Never soul More stainless sought thy claspingThan his, who, when life's light grew dim And death's dark shades were falling,Had messages for countless friends, No enemies recalling.
O Mother! bowed beneath this grief, The first your boy e'er gave you, Vain is your tearful sympathy From one wild pang to save you!Look up to God. His hand one day That loved one shall restore you,Whose dying words were, "It is best That I should die before you."