Classic Poem

He died; he was buried, the last of his race,
And they laid him away in his burial-place.

And he said in his will, " When I have done
With the mask of clay that I have on,

" Bury it simply — I'm done with it,
At best is only a poor misfit.

" It cramped my brains and chained my soul,
And it clogged my feet as I sought my goal.

" When my soul and I were inclined to shout
O'er some noble thought we had chiselled out;

" When we'd polished the marble until it stood
So fair that we truly said: " 'Tis good!"

" My soul would tremble, my spirit quail,
For it fell to the flesh to uplift the veil.

" It took our thought in its hands of clay,
And lo! how the beauty had passed away.

" When Love came in to abide with me,
I said, " Welcome, Son of Eternity!"

" I built him an altar strong and white,
Such as might stand in God's own sight;

" I chanted his glorious litany —
Pure Love is the Son of Eternity;

" But ever my altar shook alway
'Neath the brute hands of the tyrant clay.

" Its voice, with its accents harsh and drear,
Mocked at my soul and wailed in its ear:

" " Why tend the altar and bend the knee?
Love lives and dies in the dust with me."

" So the flesh that I wore chanced ever to be
Less of my friend than my enemy.

" Is there a moment this death-strong earth
Thrills, and remembers her time of birth?

" Is there a time when she knows her clay
As a star in the coil of the astral way?

" Who may tell? But the soul in its clod
Knows in swift moments its kinship to God —

" Quick lights in its chambers that flicker alway
Before the hot breath of the tyrant clay.

" So the flesh that I wore chanced ever to be
Less of my friend than my enemy.

" So bury it deeply — strong foe, weak friend —
And bury it cheaply, — and there its end! "