We cannot say, and we will not say, that he is dead.
He is just away! With a cheery smile and a wave
of the hand, He has wandered into an unknown land.
And left us dreaming how very fair it needs must be,
since he lingers there; and you-oh you, who the wildest
yearn for the old time step and the glad return.
Think of him faring on, as dear in the love of
There as the love of Here; And loyal still, as he gave the blows
of her warrior strength to her country's foes.
Mild and gentle, as he was brave, when
the sweetest love of her life he gave.
So simple things; where the violet grew pure as
the eyes they were likened to,
the touch of his hands have strayed. As reverently
as his lips have prayed; when the little brown thrush that
harshly chirped, Was dear to him as the
humming-bird, and he pitied as much
as a person in pain a writhing honey-bee wet with rain.
Think of him still as the same, we say; he is not dead-he is just AWAY!