| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XVI. Crossed Hands and Closed Eyes
Not Lost | | By Thomas S. Collyer |
| | | YES, cross in rest the little, snow-white hands, | |
| Do you not see the lips so faintly red | |
| With love’s last kiss? Their sweetness has not fled, | |
| Though now you say her sinless spirit stands | |
| Within the pale of God’s bright summer lands. | 5 |
| Gather the soft hair round the dainty head, | |
| As in past days. Who says that she is dead, | |
| And nevermore will heed the old commands? | |
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| To your cold idols cling; I know she sleeps, | |
| That her pure soul is not by vexed winds tost | 10 |
| Along the pathless altitudes of space. | |
| This life but sows the seed from which one reaps | |
| The future’s harvest. No, I have not lost | |
| The glory and the gladness of her face. | | | | |
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