  in The New York Tribune THE sick man said: “I pray I shall not die Before this tumult which now rocks the earth Shall cease. I dread far journeyings to God Ere I have heard the final shots of war, And learned the outcome of this holocaust.” Yet one night, while the guns still roared and flashed, His spirit left his body; left the earth Which he had loved in sad, disastrous days, And sped to heav’n amid the glittering stars And the white splendor of the quiet moon. One instant—and a hundred years rushed by! And he, a new immortal, found his way Among the great celestial hills of God. Then suddenly one memory of earth Flashed like a meteor’s flame across his mind. One instant—and another hundred years! And even the dream of that poor little place Which he had known was lost in greater spheres Through which he whirled; and old remembrances Were but as flecks of dust blown down the night; And nothing mattered, save that suns and moons Swung in the ether for unnumbered worlds High, high above the pebble of the earth. |
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