Lyrics of the heart With other poems. By Alaric A. Watts. With forty-one engravings on steel |
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CONSOLATION. |
 | Lyrics of the heart |  |
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CONSOLATION.
It is but perishable stuff that moulders in the grave.
SOUTHEY.
SOUTHEY.
Look up, look up, and weep not so, thy darling is not dead,
His sinless soul is cleaving now yon sky's empurpled bed;
His spirit drinks new life and light 'mid bowers of endless bloom;
It is but perishable stuff that moulders in the tomb.
Then hush, oh! hush the swelling sigh, and dry the idle tear!
Think of the home thy babe hath won, and joy that he is there!
His sinless soul is cleaving now yon sky's empurpled bed;
His spirit drinks new life and light 'mid bowers of endless bloom;
It is but perishable stuff that moulders in the tomb.
Then hush, oh! hush the swelling sigh, and dry the idle tear!
Think of the home thy babe hath won, and joy that he is there!
When summer evening's golden hues are burning in the sky,
And odorous gales from balmy bowers are breathing softly by;
When earth is bright with sunset's beams, and flowers are blushing near,
And grief, all chastened and subdued, is gathering to a tear;
How sweet 'twill be at such an hour, and 'mid a scene so fair,
To lift thy glistening eyes to heaven, and feel that he is there!
And odorous gales from balmy bowers are breathing softly by;
When earth is bright with sunset's beams, and flowers are blushing near,
And grief, all chastened and subdued, is gathering to a tear;
How sweet 'twill be at such an hour, and 'mid a scene so fair,
To lift thy glistening eyes to heaven, and feel that he is there!
| Lyrics of the heart | |