Poems of home and country :: :: University of Virginia Library

Dear is each well-remembered face,
Preserved in memory's shrine;
No scene will drive them from their place,
Or dim one precious line.
We linger, chained by love, to-day,
Amid the hallowed past,
And weep, as mournfully we say,—
This hour must be the last.

Here were our early footsteps brought,
And here, in riper years,
Our hearts, with joy or sorrow fraught,
Burdened with doubts and fears,
Like rivers, swollen with floods in spring,
Gushed with repentant grief,
Or felt the power of grace to bring
The needed, sweet relief.

Here pilgrims came, with weary feet,
And sat in pious trust,
And left, their pilgrimage complete,
The memory of the just;

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We linger in the places where
Their honored footsteps trod,
And trace the path of faith and prayer,
By which they passed to God.

Here we have pledged the solemn vow
To Him who reigns above;
Here learned in humble faith to bow
To Him whose name is Love.
Here have we stood, a grateful band,
Nor sought such bonds to part,—
Dear every brother's faithful hand,
Each sister's loving heart.

As pilgrims, doomed awhile to roam
On some far distant shore,—
Returned to seek their early home,
Their well known cottage-door,—
Mourn for the friends of earlier times,
For many an honored head,—
Some passed, long since, to other climes,
Some, sleeping with the dead,—

Some, rifled of their youthful bloom,
White rose-leaves on their brow,
Some, shadowed o'er by clouds of gloom,—
Alas, how altered now!—
We seek the friends to memory dear,—
How many—but in vain;
Oh, who will bring our loved ones here,
Just as they were, again?

Gone, but not lost,—in nobler spheres,
Redeemed and saved, they shine;

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Each hand a palm of glory bears,
Each brow, a light divine;
And we on earth, and they above,
Led by one Shepherd's hand,
Encircled by one wreath of love,
Form still one blessed band.

'T is done,—we leave the hallowed ground,
But keep what grace has done;
The rushing tide of life has found
New victories to be won;
But, temple, where the saints have prayed,
Where God has deigned to dwell,
How shall we let thy glory fade?
How shall we say “farewell”?

How shall we leave the sacred shrine
Where once our fathers trod;
How darken here the light divine
Of those who walked with God?
With quivering lip, with tearful eye,
With calm, but bleeding heart,
We sit in mournful sympathy,
And breathe the word,—Depart.

But yonder, springs in joyous light,
A temple high and pure;
The tenants, clad in raiment bright,
Shall leave its courts no more;
No night shall darken o'er its wall;
No sigh with anthems blend;
No mourners weep, no shadow fall,—
Its worship never end.

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Then they that sowed in faith and tears
Shall reap in endless joy;
And saints from all the varied years,
Shall find one glad employ.
Cemented by one bond of love,
Striking one heavenly strain
Our members all shall meet above,
Baldwin Place Church again.