The King then commanded to open the gate, "That the righteous nation," said he, "which keepeth the truth may enter in." Now I saw in my dream that these two men went in at the gate: and lo, as they entered, they were transfigured, and they had raiment put on that shone like gold. There were also that met them with harps and crowns, and gave them to them--the harps to praise withal, and the crowns in token of honor. Then I heard in my dream that all the bells in the city rang again for joy, and that it was said unto them, _"Enter ye into the joy of your Lord."_ I also heard the men themselves, that they sang with a loud voice, saying, _"Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever."_ Now, just as the gate were opened to let in the men, I looked in after them, and, behold, the City shone like the sun; the streets also were paved with gold, and in them walked many men, with crowns on their heads, palms in their hands, and golden harps to sing praises withal. There were also of them that had wings, and they answered one another without intermission, saying, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord." And after that they shut up the gates; which, when I had seen, I wished myself among them. AWAY [Footnote: From _Afterichiles_, by James Whitcomb Riley, copyright 1887.] _By_ JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY I cannot say, and I 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 his warrior strength to his country's foes.-- Mild and gentle, as he was brave,-- When the sweetest love of his life he gave To simple things;--Where the violets grew Pure as the eyes they were likened to, The touches of his hand have strayed As reverently as his lips have prayed: When the little brown thrush that harshly chirred Was dear to him as the mocking-bird; And he pitied as much as a man in pain A writhing honey-bee wet with rain.-- Think of him still as the same, I say; He is not dead--he is just away! LITTLE GIFFIN OF TENNESSEE Out of the focal and foremost fire, Out of the hospital walls as dire, Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene-- Eighteenth battle and he sixteen-- Spectre such as you seldom see, Little Giffin of Tennessee. "Take him and welcome," the surgeon said, "But much your doctor can help the dead!" And so we took him and brought him where The balm was sweet on the summer air; And we laid him down on a lonesome bed, Utter Lazarus, heels to head.