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THE SILENT PASSENGER
  
  
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30

THE SILENT PASSENGER

What homes are waiting now
With doors ajar, with quickening hearts—the smile
Of firelit quiet touching lip and brow—
For us, far off the while!
Tidings have gone before—
Swift messengers, that traverse without fear
Darkness as day, whispering through many a door
Whose threshold knows us near!

31

For some, perchance, the years
Have travelled with their faces that to-night
Return—ah, yes, for change, and Time, and tears!—
Where breathed their morning light.
And some but yesterday,
Kissed parting lips, then smiling dared to part,
Trusting to-morrow, with its constant ray,
Should light heart back to heart.
... But who is he?—what door
Is open now for him?—what mother stands
Yearning to fold her wanderer safe once more
From the world's restless sands?
What faithful one, beside
Hope's gentle watchfire, waits for Love's new bliss?—
What children, playing in Time's crawling tide,
Hold lips for father's kiss?

32

One silent passenger,
In the quick press of eager tongue and brain!
Whither? I know not, nor who waits him there.—
He travels on the train!
O travellers, near or far!
Remember, loosening hands,—ah, clasp again!—
The silent passenger in yonder car,—
Death goes on every train!
 

On seeing a laden coffin one winter night taken on board my railway train.