roseate sky now proves quite commonplace;
The constellations we so highly prized
Have vanished all--nor left the slightest trace
Of former glory in its azure face,
But high o'er all beams out the polar star
To guide us safe through rock and sandy bar;
Life is complete and its cap-stone is grace.
TO MR. RUDYARD KIPLING
True laureate of the Anglo-Saxon race,
Whose words have won the hearts of young and old;
So free from cant, and yet replete with grace,
Or prose or verse it glows like burnished gold;
Thy muse is ever loyal to the truth,
And those who know thee best forget thy youth.
Unbend thy bow and rest with us awhile;
Thy active mind requires a healthy brain;
Death's shadow has gone back upon the dial,
And thou art left a higher goal to gain;
The future will eclipse the brilliant past;
Fear not; thy ideal will be reached at last.
To do the grandest work one must needs be
Endowed by Nature for