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281
THE BROKEN BAND.
[_]
Written for the Hutchinson Family, on the death of one of their number, in 1845. Of his funeral, one of them writes:—“After some appropriate reading and remarks by the minister, we (the brothers) sang a hymn, which somewhat relieved our sorrow.”
Brother, passed from time before us,
Pure, eternal joys to know,
This dark sorrow-cloud hung o'er us
Fills with tears thy place below!
We in our dim, earthly dwelling
Sit, a mournful Broken Band:
Thy sweet voice the song is swelling
Where adoring seraphs stand!
Pure, eternal joys to know,
This dark sorrow-cloud hung o'er us
Fills with tears thy place below!
We in our dim, earthly dwelling
Sit, a mournful Broken Band:
Thy sweet voice the song is swelling
Where adoring seraphs stand!
Thus to fleet, in life's fresh blooming,
Far from all terrestrial things,
Early was thy spirit pluming
For the skies her viewless wings.
Then, from earth and mortal cumber,
Sudden was thy call to soar,
Drawn from our fraternal number,—
Won to Heaven, an angel more.
Far from all terrestrial things,
Early was thy spirit pluming
For the skies her viewless wings.
Then, from earth and mortal cumber,
Sudden was thy call to soar,
Drawn from our fraternal number,—
Won to Heaven, an angel more.
Yet, dear brother, thus above us,
From thy blissful home on high,
Dost thou not behold and love us,—
Love with more than mortal tie?
When our grief hath lapsed in dreaming,
Visioned, though thy form appears
Warm with life, with glory beaming,
Soon our eyelids burst with tears.
From thy blissful home on high,
Dost thou not behold and love us,—
Love with more than mortal tie?
When our grief hath lapsed in dreaming,
Visioned, though thy form appears
Warm with life, with glory beaming,
Soon our eyelids burst with tears.
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Thy pale clay, all hush and lowly,
Doth a spirit-watchman keep,
Where the Saviour kind and holy
“Giveth his belovèd sleep.”
There, upon the drooping willow,
Hang our harps, to wail and sigh
Sadly, o'er that quiet pillow,
To the winds that wander by.
Doth a spirit-watchman keep,
Where the Saviour kind and holy
“Giveth his belovèd sleep.”
There, upon the drooping willow,
Hang our harps, to wail and sigh
Sadly, o'er that quiet pillow,
To the winds that wander by.
That damp bed will Nature cover
With a veil of flowery green;
And mayst thou not sometimes hover
There, to meet us, though unseen?
In our hearts we still must hold thee,
Till like thee we sleep,—and then,
Wait, till waked from death, to fold thee,
Joyful, in our arms again!
With a veil of flowery green;
And mayst thou not sometimes hover
There, to meet us, though unseen?
In our hearts we still must hold thee,
Till like thee we sleep,—and then,
Wait, till waked from death, to fold thee,
Joyful, in our arms again!
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