Classic Poem

Here is the corner where he used to sit
When the long sunlight fell; 'tis there to-day —
But oh, the choking, heartsick void of it!

And from the slow and empty years to come,
Though we may call with tears, and wait and pray,
His face is vanished, and his voice is dumb.

" He lives by what he was, " you say, " survives
In memory, influence; and reflected thus
His life has passed into a thousand lives ... "

Peace! that is not the word we famish for.
Our hearts know best how he lives on in us —
But then — ah God! There must be something more!