Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/240

212 Praise to the Eternal One, and naught but praise";

And as they sang the spirits of the dying

Were upward borne from lips that ceased their sighing;

And dying was not death, but deeper living—

Living, and prayer, and praising and thanksgiving!

THE STAIRWAY

THE ACTOR

THE STRICKEN PLAYER

at life's last the stricken player lies,

When throng before his darkened, dreaming eyes

His soul's companions, which more real then—

The human comrades, the live women and men

Of the large world he knew, or the ideal

Imagined creatures his own art made real;

Wherein he poured his spirit's very being,

His soul and body? Are those dim eyes seeing