Death came to the earth, by his side was Spring,
They came from God's own bowers,
And the earth was full of their wandering,
For they both were sowing flowers.

"I sow," said Spring, "by the stream and the wood,
And the village children know
The gay glad time of my own sweet prime,
And where my blossoms grow.

"There is not a spot in the quiet wood
But hath heard the sound of my feet,
And the violets come from their solitude
When my tears have made them sweet."

"I sow," said Death, "where the hamlet stands,
I sow in the churchyard drear;
I drop in the grave with gentle hands,
My flowers from year to year.

"The young and the old go into their rest,
To the sleep that awaits them below;
But I clasp the children unto my breast,
And kiss them before I go."

"I sow," said Spring, "but my flowers decay
When the year turns weak and old,
When the breath of the bleak wind wears them away,
And they wither and droop in the mould.

"But they come again when the young earth feels
The new blood leap in her veins,
When the fountain of wonderful life unseals,
And the earth is alive with the rains."

"I sow," said Death; "but my flowers unseen
Pass away from the land of men,
Nor sighs nor tears through the long sad years
Ever bring back their bloom again.

"But I know they are wondrous bright and fair
In the fields of their high abode;
Your flowers are the flowers that a child may wear,
But mine are the blossoms of God."

Death came to the earth, by his side was Spring;
The two came from God's own bowers;
One sowed in night and the other in light,
Yet they both were sowing flowers.

If I were told that I must die to-morrow,
That the next sun
Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow
For any one,
All the fight fought, all the short journey through:
What should I do?

I do not think that I should shrink or falter,
But just go on,
Doing my work, nor change, nor seek to alter
Aught that is gone;
But rise and move and love and smile and pray
For one more day.

And, lying down at night for a last sleeping,
Say in that ear
Which hearkens ever: "Lord, within Thy keeping
How should I fear?
And when to-morrow brings Thee nearer still,
Do Thou Thy will."

I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender,
My soul would lie
All the night long; and when the morning splendor
Flushed o'er the sky,
I think that I could smile — could calmly say,
"It is His day."

But, if instead a hand from the blue yonder
Held out a scroll,
On which my life was writ, and I with wonder
Beheld unroll
To a long century's end its mystic clew,
What should I do?

What could I do, O blessed Guide and Master,
Other than this:
Still to go on as now, not slower, faster,
Nor fear to miss
The road, although so very long it be,
While led by Thee?

Step after step, feeling Thee close beside me,
Although unseen,
Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tempest hide Thee,
Or heavens serene,
Assured Thy faithfulness cannot betray,
Thy love decay.

I may not know, my God; no hand revealeth
Thy counsels wise;
Along the path a deepening shadow stealeth,
No voice replies
To all my questioning thought, the time to tell,
And it is well.

Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing
Thy will always,
Through a long century's ripening fruition,
Or a short day's.
Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait
If thou come late.