 | A Dream |  |
157
THOUGH THOU ART DEAD.
Today I tread where we have trodHappy and young and gay,
And now I stand o'er thy firm green sod,
With you beneath in the clay.
Oh! what is life and what is death,
And what is joy and pain!
Are they a pulse and parting breath
That God shall give again?
Though thou art dead, yet does thy voice
Appear to dwell on earth.
The objects of my fervent choice,
Speak of thy noble worth.
The brook which babbles on its way
Dost speak thy voice most clear
And takes me back, oh happy day!
When life was sweet and dear.
Sweet memory brings refracted sound,
From songs of long ago,
What music fills the air around,
In this echo sweet and low.
158
The moral balance of mankind,
Inclined toward good precepts old,
That we in nobler living find,
And it is so with thee, I feel
An influence of might—
A something o'er me gently steal
That yearns within for right.
I see the western sinking sun,
A low and purple disk,
Ah, is it so with thee loved one?
My faith in thee I risk,
That where afar God's Son does shine
Far o'er that Higher Land,
That thou art waiting, love of mine
To greet me with thy hand.
The darkness lowers o'er the earth,
And yet the crimson west
Speaks to the inner man of worth
And makes me long for rest.
I think of thee as if 'twer then—
Oh, last and fond goodby,
Ah, fear thou not we'll meet again,
Again beyond the sky.
| A Dream | |