In Patris Mei Memoriam Poem by John Myers O'Hara

By the fond name that was his own and mine,
   The last upon his lips that strove with doom,
   He called me and I saw the light assume
A sudden glory and around him shine;
And nearer now I saw the laureled line
   Of the august of Song before me loom,
   And knew the voices, erstwhile through the gloom,
That whispered and forbade me to repine.
And with farewell, a shaft of splendor sank
   Out of the stars and faded as a flame,
   And down the night, on clouds of glory, came
The battle seraphs halting rank on rank;
And lifted heavenward to heroic peace,
   He passed and left me hope beyond surcease.