Many things it could be wished to etch upon the memoryThat sleeps behind coruscant eyes of upward-looking babes-
To leave glinting as embers behind life's flaming ephemerae-
To weave into the trail left by the drop among the waves.
A thousand things he would want said by fellow players on his page,
Fellow fleeting droplets in the wave that bound him to his destiny,
Who shared with him a moment upon God's eternal story-stage,
Until, their moment past, they left a faint but changeless memory.
But now, just now, around him swirls caressing, kindly summer winds,
An ember-sun leaps auburn off the evening ground to whence it came,
It burned him yesterday, you know- that little, happy pain just lends
Another note that sings into a story writ to praise The Name
Of its great Author, Jesus Christ, Who makes it all to shimmer bright,
The notes of life- sad, gleeful- dance together to His symphony;
Overwhelming beauty, glory-weight enough to crush the night,
To call to life His children and to write His foes their elegy-
A thousand tons of water shatter, broken, now a million shards
Of sparkling life and looming death that fall back to the ceaseless flow
Of ocean, hissing down the sand, and there resume the ceaseless march,
But not for him- his march will end; the tide of history will grow;
Triumphant, it will fill the earth, 'til all the nations bow the knee,
'Til mountains melt and cedars fall invisible beneath its swell,
For all the world will tremble, all the world will soon rejoice to see
The Glory of the Monarch Whose great story it was made to tell.
And telling, now, of course it is! His mind returned to simpler things,
Sticky honey on his fingers, the sound of laughter carried clear
And long by wind, echoed by the waves, gulls with their percussive wings
A song, to which great counterpoint he was sent, with note, and ear.
So maybe, if his years were melted into lines of epitaph,
The thousand wondrous things he'd love for those few words to say-
Here, at least, and for right now, he can see his final paragraph,
The words he yearns to see upon the stone that marks his going away-
Here lies a man who would give thanks for blessing and for chastening rod;
Who always found the treasures every little thing would fain disguise;
Who fought to see the glory in each word of life hand-writ by God;
A man who read His story with a child's wide and wondering eyes.