⁠He who stands now on death's triumphal steep,
⁠Awakened out of life wherein we sleep
And dream of what he knows and sees, being dead.
But never death for him was dark or dread:
⁠"Look forth" he bade the soul, and fear not. Weep,
⁠All ye that trust not in his truth, and keep
Vain memory's vision of a vanished head
As all that lives of all that once was he
Save that which lightens from his word: but we,
⁠Who, seeing the sunset-coloured waters roll,
Yet know the sun subdued not of the sea,
⁠Nor weep nor doubt that still the spirit is whole,
⁠And life and death but shadows of the soul.
December 15.