James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
March 28In Memoriam Prince Leopold
By Henry Halloran (18111893)
T
Whereon the sunbeams loved to play;
Through which the starbeams found their way;
But who may read God’s dark decree?
Through years that seem without an end,—
In every wind to sway and bend,
No mark for lightning or for storm.
The artist and the poet seem
Dimly to live within their dream;
Time leaves them with their pleasant care.
The marvel of the stream and hills;
And Time the perfect volume fills
With words that thrill the human race.
Wilt thou not bring to her who grieves
More than the glory of its leaves,
A people’s love and grief and prayer?
The solid earth on which we move
Is nothing, seen by saints above;
So small,—but still man is not small.
Who rulest days and rulest men;
And in Thy will he finds Thy when,
And knows that all he finds is right.
In ways that make the day a year,
Fulfilled with intellectual cheer
Whereon all noble minds are fed.
Extended to a noble span;
A life that was a life for man,
Worthy of mother and of wife.