[Oh, are they near to us or far away?]
“If it were not so. I would have told
you.”—John xiv. 2.
Oh, are they near to us or far away?
And know they how our eyes grow dim with tears?
And can they hear what breaking hearts here say,
Our dead who sleep through all the waiting years?
Not vain the task to sweep the ocean's floor,
Or sift the slag and cinders of the moon,
Tell what the sun for fuel has in store,
Or when eclipse shall darken it at noon:
But dream not thou the great sealed stone to roll
From the grave's mouth, and to light up its gloom,
Or to unwrap the cerements of the soul,
And search the close-kept secret of the tomb.
They may be far away—I cannot tell—
And nothing of my grief can hear or see;
They may be near me, holden by a spell
Which, hard on them, will yield no help to me.
But near or far, the spirit is ensphered
Alone and silent, till it find again
A body, and appear as it appeared
When its haunts were among the sons of men.
Yet Thou that art the Lord of death and life,
Wilt Thou not clothe them with familiar frames,
That we may know belovèd friend or wife,
And clasp their hands, and call them by their names?
Changed as Thou wert, Thy friends discovered Thee
By the nail-prints and by the wounded side;
And Thou wilt leave some mark on us that we
Amid the glory may be verified.
Thou would'st have told us had it not been so,
Thou wilt not let us yearn for some dear face,
Or voice remembered fondly long ago,
To make Thy heaven to us a lonely place.
Oh rich in hope the things which Thou hast told,
Rich too the hope of what Thou hast concealed;
And having faith in Thee, Lord, I would hold
The hope unspoken as the hope revealed.
