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135
EVENING IN THE CEMETERY.
The fair, full moon is beaming clear,
And soft the summer zephyr's sigh;
While heavy hangs an evening tear
At each young floweret's sleeping eye.
The branches from the trees around
Throw quivering shadows o'er the ground,
Where the dead lie.
And all is silence, peace, and rest;
No toil,—no pain,—no troubled breast,
Where the dead lie!
And soft the summer zephyr's sigh;
While heavy hangs an evening tear
At each young floweret's sleeping eye.
The branches from the trees around
Throw quivering shadows o'er the ground,
Where the dead lie.
And all is silence, peace, and rest;
No toil,—no pain,—no troubled breast,
Where the dead lie!
Hast thou a heart for earth's vain joys?—
An eye, when they dissolve, to weep?—
A soul content with glittering toys,
Or braced for climbing Fame's proud steep?
Come, see what honors here await
Fame, beauty, splendor, power, and state,
Where the dead sleep!
Nor love, nor hope, nor wild desire
Can e'er the cold, dark ashes fire,
Where the dead sleep.
An eye, when they dissolve, to weep?—
A soul content with glittering toys,
Or braced for climbing Fame's proud steep?
Come, see what honors here await
Fame, beauty, splendor, power, and state,
Where the dead sleep!
Nor love, nor hope, nor wild desire
Can e'er the cold, dark ashes fire,
Where the dead sleep.
Do trouble's stormy billows roll,
And round thy bark with fury beat?
Do foes assail thy peaceful soul
With strife, from which there 's no retreat?
Behold how soon, from surge and blast,
Life 's bounding bark hath moorings fast,
Where the dead meet!
And, side by side, will friend and foe
Sleep till th' archangel's trump shall blow,
Where the dead meet!
And round thy bark with fury beat?
Do foes assail thy peaceful soul
With strife, from which there 's no retreat?
136
Life 's bounding bark hath moorings fast,
Where the dead meet!
And, side by side, will friend and foe
Sleep till th' archangel's trump shall blow,
Where the dead meet!
Hast thou this world of change surveyed,
And seen its ties, the dearest, break,—
Its fairest rose and laurels fade,—
And feared thy portion here to take?
Thy harp, now on the willow hung,
May breathe, for airs of Zion strung,
When the dead wake.
This tear-drenched cypress, borne by thee,
May bloom, thy palm of victory,
When the dead wake!
And seen its ties, the dearest, break,—
Its fairest rose and laurels fade,—
And feared thy portion here to take?
Thy harp, now on the willow hung,
May breathe, for airs of Zion strung,
When the dead wake.
This tear-drenched cypress, borne by thee,
May bloom, thy palm of victory,
When the dead wake!
Here let thy spirit plume her wings,
And pierce the night with upturned eyes;
Then soar above earth's transient things,
And place thy treasure in the skies.
The dust that marks her forehead now
Will beam, a glory round her brow,
When the dead rise.
Sun, moon, and stars must pass away;
Thy Pearl will shine in endless day,
When the dead rise!
And pierce the night with upturned eyes;
Then soar above earth's transient things,
And place thy treasure in the skies.
The dust that marks her forehead now
Will beam, a glory round her brow,
When the dead rise.
Sun, moon, and stars must pass away;
Thy Pearl will shine in endless day,
When the dead rise!
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