Classic Poem

They drew him — and the child — found near
Together — out upon the shore.
Ellen, whose heart would be his bier
For ever, came without a tear.
He for another died? Then grief
Unworthy of him should not rend
Cries from her — but sublime belief
In the great glory of her God
She wrung from each slow-falling clod.

So the years pass. And crescentwise
The city grows; while sire and son
Still by the river's fall and rise
Fight the old fight that never dies.
For between young and old the hill
Of life rises, and neither sees
More than the way, unmastered still,
That must be gone. ... And so the woes
Of wanton time still round them close.