My Life Like Thine

My Life Like Thine

A sacred spot is this beside this grave:
Here lies the one who nursed me at her breast
Asleep in ever boundless, endless rest,
Beyond the reach of earth's wild-aching crave
To live, beyond the grasp of fears that brave
The protests of the soul. Divine behest
That prompts me lay of tribute here the best
And truest that my life can seek or have;

I will not make a wreath of flowers bright,
They'll face, and ere three suns have shed their strength
'Mong thirgs of men, a saddening, hapless fate
Will stop to find them stretched in shapeless sight
Athwart this mound. I'll make my life the length
And breath of thine and then - the message wait.

W.H.A. Moore

4:5, p. 2

1890.10.25