Versamelde gedigte

To any mother

O be not bitter, thinking, ‘What I bore

In pain, and patterned with much love and care,

Is dead, and being dead can never share

In man's experience and that greater store
Of joy and sorrow.’ Though he can no more

Bide at your side nor kneel with you in prayer,

Yet shall you of his presence be aware,

And know he lives as ne'er he lived before.
Men die in body as all mortals must,

Some outworn, others ere their buds unfold;

Men live in spirit through the lives they led.

He whom you mourn gave life to guard his trust,

And lives again, as lives refined gold

All dross sublimed, all darkening blemish shed.