University of Virginia Library

1.THE GATHERING OF THE DEAD.

The day is cloudy;—it should be so:
And the clouds in flocks to the eastward go;
For the world may not see the glory there,
Where Christ and His Saints are met in the air.
There is a stir among all things round,
Like the shock of an earthquake underground,
And there is music in the motion,
As soft and deep as a summer ocean.
All things that sleep awake to-day,
For the Cross and the crown are won;
The winds of spring
Sweet songs may bring
Through the half-unfolded leaves of May;
But the breeze of spring
Hath no such thing
As the musical sounds that run
Where the anthem note by God is given,
And the Martyrs sing,
And the Angels ring
With the cymbals of highest Heaven.
In Heaven above, and on earth beneath,
In the holy place where dead men sleep,
In the silent sepulchres of death,
Where angels over the bodies keep
Their cheerful watch till the second breath
Into the Christian dust shall creep—
In heights and depths and darkest caves,
In the unlit green of the ocean waves—
In fields where battles have been fought,
Dungeons where murders have been wrought—
The shock and the thrill of life have run:
The reign of the Holy is begun!
There is labour and unquietness
In the very sands of the wilderness,
In the place where rivers ran,
Where the Simoom blast
Hath fiercely past
O'er the midnight caravan.
From sea to sea, from shore to shore,
Earth travails with her dead once more.
In one long endless filing crowd,
Apostles, Martyrs, Saints, have gone,
Where behind yon screen of cloud
The Master is upon His Throne!
Only we are left alone!—
Left in this waste and desert place,
Far from our natural home;
Left to complete our weary race,
Until His Kingdom come.
Alas for us that cannot be
Among that shining company!
But once a year with solemn hand
The Church withdraws the veil,
And there we see that other land,
Far in the distance pale:
While good church-bells are loudly ringing
All on the earth below,
And white-robed choirs with angels singing,
Where stately organs blow:
And up and down each holy street
Faith hears the tread of viewless feet,
Such as in Salem walked when He
Had gotten Himself the victory.
So be it ever year by year,
Until the Judge Himself be here!