Tuesday in Easter Week.
“Open unto us the gate of everlasting life.”
—Collect for the Day.
They are all gone!—that sunny band of youth,
Who once our hearts and homes surrounded
With eyes of love, and lips of fearless truth,
And breeze-like step which gaily bounded.
Gone to that glory-world, let faith believe,
Where neither sins nor sorrows reign,
And the pure Dead, for whom the living grieve,
Heaven shall reveal in light, again.
They are all gone!—but still, each form and face
Our resurrection-dreams revive,
And oft unsepulchre each buried grace
That so entranced us, when alive!
Why are the dead, so mighty when no more,
Touch'd with a charm no words can tell,
When their deep voices from th' Eternal Shore
Come wafted with an inward-spell?
Perchance, they rule us by that mystic law
Which acts within their world of calm,
And gently soothe with sanctifying awe
The Hearts that need such holy balm?
Earth knows not why; but trees, and buds, and flow'rs,
Step, air, and mien,—a myriad things
By Time confronted in his casual hours,
Feature the heart's imaginings:
Some chord is touch'd by circumstance, and, lo!
Dead Years from out their tombs arise,
Till all we cherish'd, in this vale of woe,
Arrest the soul's enchanted eyes!
Thus live the dead; the lovely never die;
Social we are, when most alone;
And mem'ry, while it breathes a votive sigh,
Still proves the sainted past our own.
