So, if it be mine First of us twain to pass the sable gates, That guard so well their mysteries, and thou, With some dear friend, may’st stand beside my grave, Speak no such words as these:—“Not long ago His voice rang out as cheerly as mine own; And we were friends, and, far into the nights, Would analyze the wisdom of old days By all the tests of Science in her prime; Anon would tramp afield, to fruits and flowers, And the long prototypes of trees and beasts Graven in sandstone; so, at last, would come, Through lanes of talk, to that perennial tree,— The Tree of Life, on which redemption hangs. But there fell out of tune; we parted there, He bolstering up a creed too broad for me! I held him kindly for an ardent soul, Who lacked not skill to make his argument Seem fair and specious. But he groped in doubt: His head and heart were young; he wandered off, And fell afoul of all those theorists Who soften down our dear New England faith With German talk of ‘Nature,’ ‘inner lights And harmonies’: so, taken with the wind Of those high-sounding terms, he spoke at large, And held discussion bravely till he died. Here sleep his ashes; where his soul may be, Myself, who loved him, do not care to think.” The ecstasy of Faith has no such fears As those you nurse for me! The marvellous love, Which folds the systems in a flood of light, Makes no crude works to shatter out of joint Through all the future. O, believe, with me, For every instinct in these hearts of ours A full fruition hastens! O, believe That promise greater than our greatest trust And loftiest aspiration! Tell thy friend, Beside my grave: “He did the best he could, With earnest spirit polishing the lens By which he took the heavens in his ken, And through the empyrean sought for God; He caught, or thought he caught, from time to time, Bright glimpses of the Infinite, on which He fed in rapturous and quiet joy, That helped him keep a host of troubles down. He went his way,—a different path from mine, But took his place among the ranks of men Who toil and suffer. If, in sooth, it be Religion keeps us up, this man had that. God grant his yearnings were a living faith! Heaven lies above us: may we find him there Beside the waters still, and crowned with palms!” THE FRESHET. A CONNECTICUT IDYL. Last August, of a three weeks’ country tour, Five dreamy days were passed amid old elms And older mansions, and in leafy dales, That knew us till our elders pushed us forth To larger life,—as eagles push their young, New-fledged and wondering, from the eyrie’s edge, To cater for themselves.