O boy at peace upon the Delaware!
O brother mine, that fell in battle front
Of life, so braver, nobler far than I,
The wanderer who vexed all gentleness,
Receive this song; I have but this to give.
I may not rear the rich man's ghostly stone;
But you, through all my follies loving still
And trusting me … nay, I shall not forget.

A failing hand in mine, and fading eyes
That look'd in mine as from another land,
You said: “Some gentler things; a song for Peace.
'Mid all your songs for men one song for God.”
And then the dark-brow'd mother Death, bent down
Her face to yours, and you were born to Him.

“In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wild waste there still is a tree.”

Though the many lights dwindle to one light,
There is help if the heavens have one.”

“Change lays not her hand upon truth.”