Say, then, of him: He knew Full depths of care And stress of pain, and you Do him scant justice there,-- Yet in the lifted face Grief left not any trace, Nor mark unfair, To mar its manly grace. It was as if each day Some new hope dawned-- Each blessing in delay, To him, was just beyond; Between whiles, waiting, he Drew pictures, cunningly-- Fantastic--fond-- Things that we laughed to see. Sometimes, as we looked on His crayon's work, Some angel-face would dawn Out radiant, from the mirk Of features old and thin, Or jowled with double-chin, And eyes asmirk, And gaping mouths agrin. That humor in his art, Of genius born, Welled warmly from a heart That could not but adorn All things it touched with love-- The eagle, as the dove-- The burst of morn-- The night--the stars above. Sometimes, amid the wild Of faces queer, A mother, with her child Pressed warm and close to her; This, I have thought, somehow, The wife, with head abow, Unreconciled, In the great shadow now. * * * * * O you of sobbing breath, Put by all sighs Of anguish at his death-- Turn--as he turned _his_ eyes, In that last hour, unknown In strange lands, all alone-- Turn thine eyes toward the skies, And, smiling, cease thy moan. WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK A thing 'at's 'bout as tryin' as a healthy man kin meet Is some poor feller's funeral a-joggin' 'long the street: The slow hearse and the hosses--slow enough, to say the least, Fer to even tax the patience of the gentleman deceased! The low scrunch of the gravel--and the slow grind of the wheels,-- The low, slow go of ev'ry woe 'at ev'rybody feels! So I ruther like the contrast when I hear the whiplash crack A quickstep fer the hosses, When the Hearse Comes Back! Meet it goin' to'rds the cimet'ry, you'll want to drap yer eyes-- But ef the plumes don't fetch you, it'll ketch you otherwise-- You'll haf to see the caskit, though you'd ort to look away And 'conomize and save yer sighs fer any other day! Yer sympathizin' won't wake up the sleeper from his rest-- Yer tears won't thaw them hands o' his 'at's froze acrost his breast! And this is why--when airth and sky's a-gittin' blurred and black I like the flash and hurry When the Hearse Comes Back!