After the worst has happened
With nothing more to fear,
The sun continues rising
With undiminished cheer,
And winds continue blowing
And skies continue fair,
As hearts continue bearing
The thing they could not bear.
–Saturday Evening Post, October 1949
A level land may satisfy and fill
Eyes that are born to it, for all I know,
But everywhere I look I want a hill,
Far off, or near. Sight has somewhere to go
And something worth while, every hour, to do,
Climbing a dozen ridges to the top
Or searching for them through the misty blue.
I like a land where looking doesn’t stop
With flat horizons, where my gaze can roam
Up hill and down, and always be at home.
–From Halfway Up the Sky (winter 1950)
The silent strength of hills was his, the constant,
The necessary, changeless presence, grown
So usual in unobtrusive giving
Of strength, that we believed his strength our own.
And the enduring certitudes of earth
Were his, the richness time could not despoil.
Our lives were rooted in his deep assurance
As trees are rooted in essential soil.
Without him, though we trust that his eternal
Faith is fulfilled and his long task approved,
We bear within our hearts and desolation
Of mountains fallen and of earth removed.
–Saturday Evening Post, 1949