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156
ON A THRUSH SINGING AT A FUNERAL IN NOVEMBER.
What means that softly-piped, melodious strainWhile yet long months of chilling frost and snow
Must intervene before the violets blow,
And April sunshine cheers us after rain?
Of hope it whispers to that mournful train
Which treads the churchyard path with footsteps slow—
Of heavenly hope assuring earthly woe
That songs and blooms and rapture yet remain.
Ah, who can tell what bower of Paradise
May shelter now that dear departed one
Whose praises, like sweet music, softly rise?
And when the days of waiting all are done
What blissful scenes shall fill our ravished eyes
While wreathed in flowers the Eternal year shall run!
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