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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408330" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Memoriam~ -- Alice Fane Gunn Stenhouse</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The grand, authentic songs that roll<br>Across grey widths of wild-faced sea,<br>The lordly anthems of the Pole,<br>Are loud upon the lea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yea, deep and full the South Wind sings<br>The mighty symphonies that make<br>A thunder at the mountain springs -<br>A whiteness on the lake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And where the hermit hornet hums,<br>When Summer fires his wings with gold,<br>The hollow voice of August comes,<br>Across the rain and cold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now on the misty mountain tops,<br>Where gleams the crag and glares the fell,<br>Wild Winter, like one hunted, stops<br>And shouts a fierce farewell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Keen fitful gusts shoot past the shore<br>And hiss by moor and moody mere -<br>The heralds bleak that come before<br>The turning of the year.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A sobbing spirit wanders where<br>By fits and starts the wild-fire shines;<br>Like one who walks in deep despair,<br>With Death amongst the pines.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And ah! the fine, majestic grief<br>Which fills the heart of forests lone,<br>And makes a lute of limb and leaf<br>Is human in its tone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Too human for the thought to slip -<br>How every song that sorrow sings<br>Betrays the broad relationship<br>Of all created things.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Man's mournful speech, the wail of tree,<br>The words the winds and waters say,<br>Make up that general elegy,<br>Whose burden is decay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To-night my soul looks back and sees,<br>Across wind-broken wastes of wave,<br>A widow on her bended knees<br>Beside a new-made grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A sufferer with a touching face<br>By love and grief made beautiful;<br>Whose rapt religion lights the place<br>Where death holds awful rule.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fair, tired soul whose twofold grief<br>For child and father lends a tone<br>Of pathos to the pallid leaf<br>That sighs above the stone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The large beloved heart whereon<br>She used to lean, lies still and cold,<br>Where, like a seraph, shines the sun<br>On flowerful green and gold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I knew him well - the grand, the sweet,<br>Pure nature past all human praise;<br>The dear Gamaliel at whose feet<br>I sat in other days.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He, glorified by god-like lore,<br>First showed my soul Life's highest aim;<br>When, like one winged, I breathed - before<br>The years of sin and shame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God called him Home. And, in the calm<br>Beyond our best possessions priced,<br>He passed, as floats a faultless psalm,<br>To his fair Father, Christ.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But left as solace for the hours<br>Of sorrow and the loss thereof;<br>A sister of the birds and flowers,<br>The daughter of his love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She, like a stray sweet seraph, shed<br>A healing spirit, that flamed and flowed<br>As if about her bright young head<br>A crown of saintship glowed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Suppressing, with sublime self-slight,<br>The awful face of that distress<br>Which fell upon her youth like blight,<br>She shone like happiness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, in the home so sanctified<br>By death in its most noble guise,<br>She kissed the lips of love, and dried<br>The tears in sorrow's eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And helped the widowed heart to lean,<br>So broken up with human cares,<br>On one who must be felt and seen<br>By such pure souls as hers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Moreover, having lived, and learned<br>The taste of Life's most bitter spring,<br>For all the sick this sister yearned -<br>The poor and suffering.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But though she had for every one<br>The phrase of comfort and the smile,<br>This shining daughter of the sun<br>Was dying all the while.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet self-withdrawn - held out of reach<br>Was grief; except when music blent<br>Its deep, divine, prophetic speech<br>With voice and instrument.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then sometimes would escape a cry<br>From that dark other life of hers -<br>The half of her humanity -<br>And sob through sound and verse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At last there came the holy touch,<br>With psalms from higher homes and hours;<br>And she who loved the flowers so much<br>Now sleeps amongst the flowers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">By hearse-like yews and grey-haired moss,<br>Where wails the wind in starts and fits,<br>Twice bowed and broken down with loss,<br>The wife, the mother sits.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God help her soul! She cannot see,<br>For very trouble, anything<br>Beyond this wild Gethsemane<br>Of swift, black suffering;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Except it be that faltering faith<br>Which leads the lips of life to say:<br>'There must be something past this death -<br>Lord, teach me how to pray!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, teach her, Lord! And shed through grief<br>The clear full light, the undefiled,<br>The blessing of the bright belief<br>Which sanctified her child.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let me, a son of sin and doubt,<br>Whose feet are set in ways amiss -<br>Who cannot read Thy riddle out,<br>Just plead, and ask Thee this;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Give her the eyes to see the things -<br>The Life and Love I cannot see;<br>And lift her with the helping wings<br>Thou hast denied to me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yea, shining from the highest blue<br>On those that sing by Beulah's streams,<br>Shake on her thirsty soul the dew<br>Which brings immortal dreams.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So that her heart may find the great,<br>Pure faith for which it looks so long;<br>And learn the noble way to wait,<br>To suffer, and be strong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Kendall">Henry Kendall</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408330" data-title="In Memoriam~ -- Alice Fane Gunn Stenhouse de Henry Kendall" data-description="The grand, authentic songs that roll
Across grey widths of wild-faced sea,
The lordly anthems of the Pole,
Are loud upon the lea.

Yea, deep and full the South Wind sings
The mighty symphonies that make
A thunder at the mountain springs -
A whiten..."></div>
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