The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
296
XI. NEAR AT HAND
The dead are with us through our nights and days;
They have not journeyed far,
Beyond the clouds, beyond the golden haze
That shrouds the furthest star.
Our earthly flowers
Are still to them most dear,
And still they hear
The songs of merry birds in hawthorn bowers.
They have not journeyed far,
Beyond the clouds, beyond the golden haze
That shrouds the furthest star.
Our earthly flowers
Are still to them most dear,
And still they hear
The songs of merry birds in hawthorn bowers.
Friends who have passed are never far away,
Beyond the warmth of June,
Beyond the sights and sounds and scents of May,
Beyond our waters' tune.
They linger still
To watch the white moon rise
Behind the hill,
And still take pleasure in the sunlit skies.
Beyond the warmth of June,
Beyond the sights and sounds and scents of May,
Beyond our waters' tune.
They linger still
To watch the white moon rise
Behind the hill,
And still take pleasure in the sunlit skies.
297
They nearest are, just when we need them most.
They help with living hands;
No spectral shape, no fruitless pallid ghost,
Peers from the unseen lands.
They watch and heed;
Their legions fill the air;
They never speed
Beyond the cry of pain, or reach of prayer.
They help with living hands;
No spectral shape, no fruitless pallid ghost,
Peers from the unseen lands.
They watch and heed;
Their legions fill the air;
They never speed
Beyond the cry of pain, or reach of prayer.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |