THE HARDEST LOT

by: John White Chadwick (1840-1904)

O look upon the face of a dead friend

Is hard; but 'tis not more than we can bear

If, haply, we can see peace written there,--

Peace after pain, and welcome so the end,

Whate'er the past, whatever death may send.

Yea, and that face a gracious smile may wear,

If love till death was perfect, sweet, and fair;

But there is woe from which may God defend:

To look upon our friendship lying dead,

While we live on, and eat, and drink, and sleep--

Mere bodies from which all the soul has fled--

And that dead thing year after year to keep

Locked in cold silence in its dreamless bed:--

There must be hell while there is such a deep.

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