Roosevelt, 1919

How shall we say “God rest him!”
Of him who loved not rest,
But the pathless plunge in the forest
And the pauseless quest,
And the call of the billowing mountains,
Crest beyond crest?

Hope rather, God will give him
His spirit’s need--
Rapture of ceaseless motion
That is rest indeed,
As the cataract sleeps on the cliff-side
White with speed.

So shall his soul go ranging
Forever, swift and wide,
With a strong man’s rejoicing,
As he loved to ride;
But all our days are poorer
For the part of him that died.