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A FUNERAL PSALM.
Silent we sat, within a darkened room;For in our midst, the lowering heart of gloom,
Stood a low bier, with blossoms showered in vain
To hide the ghastly shape of loss and pain.
Still, still was all, save when one sobbing breath
Paid stifled tribute to the conqueror Death;
When suddenly, outside the open door,
An oriole began his song to pour;
Sweet, liquid, clear, triumphant as the morn
That scatters all the mists from meads forlorn,
His warble thrilled the sunshine and the air,
And made the emerald grasses show more fair;
The budded elms swayed to that living sound,
And some sweet madness spread through all around
No more I heard the moan and plaint of prayer;
No more the hymn's low wailing held me there:
No death, no grave, but heaven's immortal Spring
Did in that silver cadence reign and ring.
The fresh deep grass; the buds on thickening trees;
The new-born life and sweetness in the breeze;
The nesting, nestling birds, that overhead
Their little hammocks in the branches spread;
The tender fragrance from the bending boughs;
The way-side blossoms lifting sunny brows;
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That like some happy, wandering child went by,
All sung accordant anthem in my ear:—
“The Lord is risen! why do ye seek him here?
His world, his way, is life, not death and woe.
Look up where his departing footsteps go!
The grave is empty save of slumbering dust.
The Lord is risen: arise, oh faith and trust!
Swing wide, ye gates of never-failing Spring;
Hear the swift footsteps of your coming king!
Behold He cometh! here is life and joy;
No winds shall scatter and no frosts destroy.
Be glad for death, life's blind beguiling seed;
Thy dead shall rise, for Christ is risen indeed.”
So still, above the weeping and the prayer,
The Spring's diviner message stirred the air;
And I, as one escaped anew from prison,
Sung to my soul exulting, “He has risen!”
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