Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Arthur Wentworth HamiltonEaton1177 Pray for the Dead
P
Do all our human loves grow pale,
Or are the old needs all forgot
When men have passed within the veil?
For those we still keep with us here,
And not a single wish arise
For loved ones in a happier sphere?
No rugged heights of truth to climb;
Does no strange syllable of sin
Mar the soft cadence of their rhyme;
He took such loving pains to weld,
And said, “Henceforth their memories
In prayerless silence must be held”?
Thy soul to theirs were forged on high;
Borne upward, they have surely found
The chain still fastened in the sky.
That they have lost the need of prayer!
Heaven’s gates are not so far away
That earth goes unremembered there.
Thy longings at the throne of grace;
Our dead ones are more dear, not less,
In the pure presence of God’s face.
As here, inspired life to win—
Nor see alone the gateways fair
Of Heaven’s great life, but enter in.
God gives thee such sweet liberty,
He means where’er their souls are sped,
That they shall be in touch with thee.