  (Suggested by Gottschalk’s composition, “The Dying Poet.”) Life’s checkered dream is over, Ended its joys and woes; Silent the bard and the lover Down to the valley goes; Down to the dark, broad river Wanders his restless soul, Into the vast Forever, Which he so oft heard call,— Ever, forever, Singing through each and all. Over him spirits hover, Spirits who knew his life, Knew all that holy power— Wasted in grief and strife,— Knew how he gave, not heeding Sordidness, greed and sin, Knew how his heart was bleeding, Only the true to win,— Ever, forever, Living within. Music too vast for language, Bursting the bonds and bounds, Now shall be free from anguish, Free from discordant sounds, Finding what here it never Reached in its noblest fight, The cadence of life’s forever, The glory of deathless light,— Ever, forever, Leading him through the night. Pale now the brow of the singer, Undecked by laurel-wreath, Only a few friends linger, To whom he his songs bequeathed; But a host is waiting yonder, Whose praise on his ears doth burst, And the soul, who does lonely wander, Shall quench its immortal thirst,— Ever, forever, And the things that are last shall be first. |
|
