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131
THE OLD HOME.—A MONODY.
“My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep.”
Job XXX. 31.
They're gone, all gone! my loved,—my own!
With swelling heart, and swimming eye,
In our old home I sit alone,
And call them; but there 's no reply.
The moon a sad, cold lustre pours
Along these dim, forsaken walls:
No form moves o'er the silent floors,
Nor shade appears, nor footstep falls.
With swelling heart, and swimming eye,
In our old home I sit alone,
And call them; but there 's no reply.
The moon a sad, cold lustre pours
Along these dim, forsaken walls:
No form moves o'er the silent floors,
Nor shade appears, nor footstep falls.
I see no dear, familiar face,
I hear no soothing kindred tone;
The hush profound, the vacant place,
Assures me I am all alone.
But in the vine, that, quivering, clings
About the casement and the eaves,
A solemn dirge the night-wind sings,
Among the tendrils and the leaves.
I hear no soothing kindred tone;
The hush profound, the vacant place,
Assures me I am all alone.
But in the vine, that, quivering, clings
About the casement and the eaves,
A solemn dirge the night-wind sings,
Among the tendrils and the leaves.
And while the sighing breezes sweep
The branches of the door-yard tree,
They seem like spirits, come to weep,
And hold a mournful watch, with me.
I ask the moon so sadly fair,—
The night's cool breath through shadows drawn,—
“What are they who were mine? and where?”
A void but answers, “Gone, all gone!”
The branches of the door-yard tree,
They seem like spirits, come to weep,
And hold a mournful watch, with me.
I ask the moon so sadly fair,—
The night's cool breath through shadows drawn,—
“What are they who were mine? and where?”
A void but answers, “Gone, all gone!”
132
I pray yon holy evening star,
Since here they are no more to come,
To tell me how and where they are;
But silence answers,—“All gone home!”
I bid the heavens their vault unclose,
And show me what that home may be,
Where my earth-wearied ones repose:
A Spirit answers,—“Die to see!”
Since here they are no more to come,
To tell me how and where they are;
But silence answers,—“All gone home!”
I bid the heavens their vault unclose,
And show me what that home may be,
Where my earth-wearied ones repose:
A Spirit answers,—“Die to see!”
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