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3n fIDemoriam. 



SAMUEL MARGERISON. 



Our world is poorer for his death, and yet 



May we not hold that still beyond our seeing 

 The choate forces building up our being 



Engerm in what he leaves us, well inset 



Of languaged concepts, something of the debt 

 That nature-lovers owe to such as he 

 Who dower us with a richer field ' in fee ' 



For further insearch ? Let, then, no one fret. 



He won Regard — he kept what so he won, 

 Despite such frailty as is heir of flesh ; 



And now amid our mourning, and the stun 

 Of recent loss, let each of us, afresh, 

 Pick up the down-dropt clew, the riven mesh, 



And, maybe, frame a whole of what he spun. 



Naturists, truly, are on solid ground 



Who take what men call ' Fate ' in perfect trust ; 



For what is any thinking form but dust 

 In vital patterns cosmically bound ? 



Naturalist, 



