I BRING the simplest pledge of love, <br />Friend of my earlier days; <br />Mine is the hand without the glove, <br />The heart-beat, not the phrase. <br /> <br />How few still breathe this mortal air <br />We called by school-boy names! <br />You still, whatever robe you wear, <br />To me are always James. <br /> <br />That name the kind apostle bore <br />Who shames the sullen creeds, <br />Not trusting less, but loving more, <br />And showing faith by deeds. <br /> <br />What blending thoughts our memories share! <br />What visions yours and mine <br />Of May-days in whose morning air <br />The dews were golden wine, <br /> <br />Of vistas bright with opening day, <br />Whose all-awakening sun <br />Showed in life's landscape, far away, <br />The summits to be won! <br /> <br />The heights are gained. Ah, say not so <br />For him who smiles at time, <br />Leaves his tired comrades down below, <br />And only lives to climb! <br /> <br />His labors,--will they ever cease,-- <br />With hand and tongue and pen? <br />Shall wearied Nature ask release <br />At threescore years and ten? <br /> <br />Our strength the clustered seasons tax,-- <br />For him new life they mean; <br />Like rods around the lictor's axe <br />They keep him bright and keen. <br /> <br />The wise, the brave, the strong, we know,-- <br />We mark them here or there, <br />But he,--we roll our eyes, and lo! <br />We find him everywhere! <br /> <br />With truth's bold cohorts, or alone, <br />He strides through error's field; <br />His lance is ever manhood's own, <br />His breast is woman's shield. <br /> <br />Count not his years while earth has need <br />Of souls that Heaven inflames <br />With sacred zeal to save, to lead,-- <br />Long live our dear Saint James!<br /><br />Oliver Wendell Holmes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-james-freeman-clarke/
