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(30 November 1872 – 28 January 1918 / Guelph, Ontario)

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A Song Of Comfort

"Sleep, weary ones, while ye may --
Sleep, oh, sleep!"
Eugene Field.



Thro' May time blossoms, with whisper low,
The soft wind sang to the dead below:
"Think not with regret on the Springtime's song
And the task ye left while your hands were strong.
The song would have ceased when the Spring was past,
And the task that was joyous be weary at last."

To the winter sky when the nights were long
The tree-tops tossed with a ceaseless song:
"Do ye think with regret on the sunny days
And the path ye left, with its untrod ways?
The sun might sink in a storm cloud's frown
And the path grow rough when the night came down."

In the grey twilight of the autumn eves,
It sighed as it sang through the dying leaves:
"Ye think with regret that the world was bright,
That your path was short and your task was light;
The path, though short, was perhaps the best
And the toil was sweet, that it led to rest."

Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002


Read poems about / on: song, sleep, autumn, winter, spring, tree, wind, sky, sun, light, world, night, time

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Comments about this poem (The Anxious Dead by John McCrae )

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  • Joseph Harskamp (9/16/2006 10:40:00 PM)

    Simply beautiful...it resonates

    2 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Michael Gale (9/8/2006 1:27:00 PM)

    Another Great poet be he....
    To read appreciatively as gladly and happy.
    This poem t'was as freshness of breath...
    About worked life t'wich led to death.
    This is another ten fro' thee.
    God bless all poets-MJG.

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