Page:The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag.djvu/81

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An Appreciation

To One

On whose silvered locks lightly rest the crown of fourscore and seven well spent years: A favoured Child of Nature, who has brought to the snows of December the May time spirit. For whom each whispering treetop has a song; to whom each tiny rivulet tells a story, and each flower and stone conveys a message. One who has traversed his country's breadth; who has scaled her lofty summits; who has found rest in her peaceful valleys.

A man of ideals; of high principles; of strong convictions; of warm emotions;

A student; a thinker; a philosopher; a poet, clothing the humble scenes of life with pure imagery and quaint diction.

A Gentleman of the Old School; whose innate courtesy and noble dignity, whose fine culture and keen intelligence place him as a peer among his fellows; yet whose simplicity and kindliness make for him friends among all classes.

To such an One—Our Neighbor, Our Friend; Jonathan E. Hoag—We render this humble tribute.

Verna McGeoch Murch.

To Jonathan E. Hoag, Poet

Death said: "Why should I spare this child,
  Perchance for woe or shame?"
Life answered: "I have kept for him
  A loved and honored name."

Death said: "Why should this youth defy
  My ever-piercing dart?"
Life answered: "I have given him
  A strong and faithful heart."

Death said: "Why should this man be free
  From common doubts and fears?"
Life answered: "He has learned to trust
  The promise of the years."

Death said: "Why should this aged one
  His weary days prolong?"
Life answered: "He has won of me
  The sacred gift of song."

Death said: "Yet is he mine at last."
  "Nay, seek some other prize,"
Said Life, "Thy dart is powerless here;
  The poet never dies!"

James F. Morton, Jr.

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