To Mr. Rudyard Kipling[1]

True laureate of the Anglo-Saxon race,     Whose words have won the hearts of young and old;     So free from cant, and yet replete with grace,     Or prose or verse it glows like burnished gold;     Thy muse is ever loyal to the truth,     And those who know thee best forget thy youth.     Unbend thy bow and rest with us awhile;     Thy active mind requires a healthy brain;     Death's shadow has gone back upon the dial,     And thou art left a higher goal to gain;     The future will eclipse the brilliant past;     Fear not; thy ideal will be reached at last.     To do the grandest work one must needs be     Endowed by Nature for the master task;     Yea more, he must possess the light to see     Those mysteries which nature seems to mask,     And this can gain but in the royal way--     'Tis dread experience leads from gloom to-day.     The Master saw a struggling youth, and smiled,     Pleased with his work in main; but, knowing too     His latent power, if it could be beguiled     From hiding-place, much greater work would do,     He took His servant's hand and led the way     Through vale of sorrow up to brighter day.     By other path this height is ne'er attained,     Nor books nor schools its hidden wealth unveil.     Philosophy and art have treasures gained,     But in this quest they must forever fail--     Experience only can the gift impart,     Bring needed light and regulate the heart.     To solace those who grieve one must have felt     In his own heart the rending pangs of pain;     The heart that suffers not will never melt     At others' woes, though free from selfish stain;     What we have felt and seen we truly know,     And thus endowed, our tears for others flow.     So leave thy much-loved lyre awhile unstrung     Till health again invigorate thy frame;     With brain renewed, with vigorous heart and lung     Take up thy work once more, and greater fame--     A richer man by far than e'er before,     For thou hast treasure on the other shore.