 | Eonchs of ruby. A Gift of Love |  |
117
THE CHAPLET OF CYPRESS.
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MY SISTER.
“The Good die first.”
I.
Up through the hyaline ether-sea,Star-diademed, in chariot of pure pain,
Through th' empyreal star-fires radiantly,
Triumphant over Death in Heaven to reign
Thy soul is gone, seeking its Blest Abode,
Where break the songs of stars against the feet of God.
II.
At Heaven's high portals thou dost stand,Bands of attendant Angels by thy side—
Gazing with rapture on the Promised Land—
Pale—meek—with thy last sickness, purified,
By suffering, from the sins of earth, to be
A white-robed Angel round God's throne eternally.
III.
Like stars at midnight in the sky,Were all the dark things in this world to thee;
The joys of earth, when thou wert called to die,
Were ringing in thine ears most audibly,
When Angel-voices from the far-off skies,
Poured on thy soul rivers of rapturous melodies
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IV.
Upon thy pale, cold, silent face,Still speaking of the death that thou didst die—
A living light, which Death could not efface,
Was shed, crowning thy young mortality—
As if the power had unto thee been given
To show us here on earth what thou art now in Heaven.
V.
For when thy coffin-lid was moved,Fast flowing tears of endless pity fell
Upon thy pale, cold brow, so much beloved,
From our torn hearts, as we then cried, Farewell!
Like dews upon some withered lily-leaf—
Rivers of sorrow from deep seas of bitter grief!
VI.
At thine, the newest grave dug here,Beside our parents' graves, we humbly bow,
Offering our hearts to God in silent prayer—
Asking ourselves who of us next must go
Where thou art gone, to see what thou hast seen—
To be what thou art now, if now what thou hast been!
VII.
I recollect the last long nightWe played together—brothers—sisters—all—
Took notice of the infinite delight
That filled thy soul, till laughter's waterfall
Gushed, gurgling from thy lips in joyful flow—
And this, dear One! was only three short months ago!
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VIII.
Then thou wert gayer than the gay,And full of pleasure to the very brim—
Whiling, with gladness, all thy time away—
Not thinking thou wert soon to go to Him—
Thy Father's father, there, in Heaven, to shine
With thy dear mother—brother—sister Adaline!
IX.
Thou wilt behold my Florence there,And she will know thee in that world above,
By that, which, wanting, makes us strangers here!
And she will love thee with the same deep love
She loved me in this world, if thou wilt tell
Her thou art my dear sister—Angel! fare-thee-well!
| Eonchs of ruby. A Gift of Love | |