In Patris Mei Memoriam

John Myers O'Hara

By the fond name that was his own and mine,
 The last upon his lips that strove with doom,
 He called me and I saw the light assume
A sudden glory and around him shine;
And nearer now I saw the laureled line
 Of the august of Song before me loom,
 And knew the voices, erstwhile through the gloom,
That whispered and forbade me to repine.
And with farewell, a shaft of splendor sank
 Out of the stars and faded as a flame,
 And down the night, on clouds of glory, came
The battle seraphs halting rank on rank;
And lifted heavenward to heroic peace,
 He passed and left me hope beyond surcease.