George A. Newman Sr.

Editors’ note: According to Ruth M. Toliver’s Keeping Up with Yesterday (2009), Newman wrote this poem on the occasion of the death of his father, Elias Newman, in 1877.

Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to scatter at the N[orth] wind’s breath,
And stars to set—but all—
Thou has all seasons for thine own, oh Death!

Oh, cease my wandering soul,
On restless wings to soar;
This wide old earth, from pole to pole,
Has not for thee a home.

Behold the ark of God,
Behold the open door.
Enter into that blest abode,
And roam, my soul, no more.

Fate wound him up for three score years—
Yet proudly ran he on some winters more,
Till like a clock worn out with eating time
The wheels of weary life at last stood still.^[1]