130 Ohio Arch. and Hist. Society Publications
24, 1934, and that a copy of the same
be sent to his sur-
viving wife and son.
IN MEMORY
(To
C. B. GALBREATH)
My grief must not disturb the sleep
Of one who found his needed rest,
Though loss of him has made me weep;
He loved my happiness the best,
My songs of gladness and of youth,
And he would have this tribute be
Some unaffected, gentle truth
For his beloved humanity.
He gave so much, and gave so well:
And while men whisper, "He is
gone;"
I feel the things that he would tell,
In poet-hearts will still live on;
In winds that croon and stars that glow,
And in the crimson poppy's flame--
He will come back again I know,
To hearts remembering his name!
So often have his kindly words
Encouraged me to better rhyme;
Oh! Wind and trees and singing birds,
Pay homage through unending time,
To him who loved all nature's things!
Oh! Poets, pen your sweetest themes,
And angels spread your quiet wings
Above his silent place of dreams.
--Mildred Schanck.
(From "A Verse for Today"
column of the Columbus Evening Dis-
patch, April 16, 1934.)
IN MEMORY OF CHARLES B. GALBREATH
"Blessed are the dead, which die in
the Lord....Yea.... that they may
rest from their labours; and their works
do follow them."
--Rev. 14:13.
He is at rest. Our listening ears
Attuned to that calm, gentle voice,
Will wait in vain through coming years
To hear what made us all rejoice.
Charles Burleigh Galbreath 131
Though born, like his great fellow-soul,
'Mid winter's chill, in cabin small,
He climbed life's ladder round by round,
With no step back, and ne'er a fall.
He is at rest--the tireless one
Who never duty shirked. In sooth
We know his constant, true delight
Was delving deeply after truth.
He is at rest--the faithful friend
Whose strength was ever spent with zest;
How ceaselessly he filled his days!
And ever gave but of his best.
He is at rest--the fertile brain--
So full of lofty thoughts, the heart
A fount of cheer. Ah! ours the gain
In verses writ with poet's art.
His fellow-workers knew him best.
We knew him kindest of the kind.
His charity and Christlike heart
Were to our faults a little blind.
He is at rest. Nor heat, nor cold,
Nor blast of winter touch his brow;
So deep his sleep no earthly sound
Can waken, can disturb him now.
Sleep on, O friend! We miss thee much,
We miss thee! But thy work is done.
Comes God's gift, slumber, to His own.
Thy race is o'er, thy vict'ry won.
O "guide, philosopher and
friend,"
Hail and farewell! These halting lines
Are but scant tribute to the one
Whose influence ever round us shines.
Shines o'er us like a guiding star,
Inciting us to do our best,
Until, when all our tasks are o'er,
The time shall come, when we, too, rest.
--Alice S. Davis,
Cataloguer, The Ohio State Archaeological and
Historical Society Library.