Name/Title
Poem March 12, 1928 Memory of Rev Raymond Hoyt StearnsEntry/Object ID
001215Tags
Raymond Hoyt StearnsScope and Content
Transcription: Memorial for Rev. Raymond Hoyt Stearns
IN LOVING MEMORY OF
REV. RAYMOND HOYT STEARNS
WHO CROSSED THE DIVIDE
MARCH 12, 1928
Beyond the Divide
As one who, traveling through a mountain land,
Ascends a point from which his eye can view
The path his feet have climbed from height to height,
So, once again, from where the years divide,
I look far down the past to meadows bright
Of childhood, where the upward march began,
And then, on dewy, flower-sweet braes of youth,
Mounted so merrily with lightsome feet,
Then steeper slopes of manhood’s strenuous years,
When strife and toil were only forms of joy,
Being borne in sweetest comradeship, and shared.
By a brave host, ascending hand in hand,
Fearless of hardship, ever looking up,
And seeing all the heights with sunshine crowned.
But now, all these are memories, far and dim—
The smiling plain, the fragrant braes, the hills
Which bore rich harvest promise—and remain
Only the barren rocks, white with the snow,
And icy summits in a starless sky.
Almost alone I climb. Of all the band
Which made such happy fellowship below,
A scattered few march feebly on, or lie
Beside the way, content to strive no more.
Is this the end of all then? Does the toil,
The hope, the aspiration end in this?
To fall and perish on these frozen heights,
All the long labor being spent in vain?
No, for the dream that led us forth not yet
Has lost its power. Let me press on.
Who knows but when I pass the rugged verge
Of some rude spur which seems to close the way,
Suddenly there may open to my sight,
Lying far down below the utmost slope,
The vista of a smiling, sunny land,
Warm with a fadeless summer, verdant, fair,
From whose soft fields rise, glorious and clear,
The towers of that bright city of my prayers,
Where dwell the loved ones who have left my side,
And, by some swifter, nearer path have found
Their resting place with Him, dearest of all,
Who led their steps over the Pass of Death,
Into the land of life, of light and love.
Great is the way and weary, yet, my soul,
Faint not, gird up thy strength, look to the heights,
And onward still over the paths of years,
Beyond the Divide lies joy and rest and Home!
R. H. S., 1923