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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=509992" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Final Reckoning</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Twas a wild and stormy sunset, changing tints of lurid red<br>Flooded mountain top and valley and the low clouds overhead;<br>And the rays streamed through the windows of a building stately, high,<br>Whose wealthy, high-born master had lain him down to die. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Many friends were thronging round him, breathing aching, heavy sighs—<br>Men with pale and awe-struck faces, women, too, with weeping eyes,<br>Watching breathless, silent, grieving him whose sands were nearly run,<br>When, with sudden start, he muttered: “God! how much I’ve left undone!” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then out spoke an aged listener, with broad brow and locks of snow,<br>“Patriot, faithful to thy country and her welfare, say not so,<br>For the long years thou hast served her thou hast only honor won.”<br>But, from side to side still tossing, still he muttered: “Much undone!” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the wife, with moan of anguish, like complaint of stricken dove,<br>Murmured: “Husband, truer, fonder, never blessed a woman’s love,<br>And a just and tender father both to daughter and to son”—<br>But more feebly moaned he ever: “Oh! there’s much, there’s much undone!” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Quickly, then, a proud, stern soldier questioned: “Say, will not thy name<br>Long descend in future story, linked with honor and with fame,<br>For thine arm was prompt in battle and thy laurels nobly won;<br>Patriot, citizen and soldier, what, then, is there left undone?” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the dying man upraised him; at his accents loud and clear<br>Into silence men lapsed quickly—women checked each sob and tear;<br>And he said: “To fame, home, country, all my heart, my thoughts I’ve given,<br>But, Oh dreamers, can you tell me what I’ve done for God—for Heaven? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">“It was not for Him I battled with the sword or with the pen,<br>Not for His praise that I thirsted, but that of my fellow-men;<br>And amid the light now flooding this my life’s last setting sun,<br>I can see, misguided worldling! that there’s much I’ve left undone.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thicker, darker, fell the shadows, fainter grew his flutt’ring breath<br>Then a strange and solemn stillness, ’twas the awful hush of death:<br>Hope we that a tender Saviour, unto gentle pity won,<br>Judged that dying man with mercy, whatsoe’er he left undone!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Rosanna+Eleanor+Leprohon">Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon</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=509992" data-title="The Final Reckoning de Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon" data-description="’Twas a wild and stormy sunset, changing tints of lurid red
Flooded mountain top and valley and the low clouds overhead;
And the rays streamed through the windows of a building stately, high,
Whose wealthy, high-born master had lain him down to ..."></div>
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