To R.E.K.
Dear, rash, warm-hearted friend.
So careless of the end,
So worldly-foolish, so divinely-wise,
Who, caring not one jot
For place, gave all you’d got
To help your lesser fellow-men to rise.
Swift-footed, fleeter yet
Of heart. Swift to forget
The petty spite that life or men could show you:
Your last long race is won.
But beyond the sound of gun
You laugh and help men onward—if I know you.
Oh still you laugh, and walk,
And sing and frankly talk
(To angels) of the matters that amused you
In this bitter-sweet of life,
And we who keep its strife,
Take comfort in the thought how God has used
you.
