University of Virginia Library

SONNETS.

[I. Down in the cold and noiseless wave of death]

Down in the cold and noiseless wave of death,
Oh, pure and beautiful lost one that thou art,
Clasping the anchor of eternal faith
Closer and closer to thy trusting heart—
Didst thou fade from us, while our tearful eyes,
Here on the shore of sad mortality,
Gazed sorrowing on that form that ne'er shall rise
Till sounds the music of eternity.
Then shalt thou take the Saviour's hand in thine,
Not with his faith who held it falteringly,
But in the trustfulness of love divine,
And with him walk the waters of the sea;
Till, casting anchor, all thy toils shall cease
In the still haven of eternal peace.

[II. The beautiful measure of thy trusting love]

The beautiful measure of thy trusting love
Survives the answering faith it knew of old;
Over the heart thy pleadings cannot move,
Slowly but sure the closing wave hath rolled:
The unpitying eyes thou meet'st burn not more bright,
Though now thy lips with eloquent fervor speak,
And all thy passionate kisses may not light
The crimson fires in the unchanging cheek.
How shall I give thee solace? Had she died,
With love's sweet sunlight shining in her eyes,
Then might'st thou, casting selfish grief aside,
Patiently wait reunion in the skies:
For better than the living faith estranged,
The love that goes down to the dead unchanged.

[III. Look once again! yet mourn in holy trust]

Look once again! yet mourn in holy trust,
Near the still Presence softly, softly tread,
Before the dimness of the closing dust
Soils the yet lingering beauty of the dead.
Look on the silent lip, whence oft hath flowed
Such living truth as man hath seldom taught,
And the sereneness of that brow that glowed
Earnest in life with pure and eloquent thought!
How silver-white has grown his reverend hair,
Serving his Master in the way of truth:
For him, an age of active love and prayer
Fulfilled the beautiful promise of his youth;
And what a triumph hour is death to those
Faithful in life, yet happy in its close!

[IV. Let me not feel thy pitying fingers' grasp]

Let me not feel thy pitying fingers' grasp,
Though dewy cool their pressure still may be,
Since they have learned to thrill within the clasp
Of passionate love that trembled once for me!
Sweep back the beautiful tresses from thy brow,
Nor let them, falling o'er me, blend with mine:
Dark as the glorious midnight in their flow,—
My locks are paler in their fall than thine!
In thy deep eyes are lit the fires divine,
That made the heart its early love forget;
So much they mock the softer light of mine
I cannot calmly meet their glances yet;
Therefore, until this bitterness shall cease,
Leave me, that I may win my heart to peace!