The Two Brothers, and other poems By Edward Henry Bickersteth |
 |
TO MY SISTER, ON THE EVE OF HER
MARRIAGE. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
|
 | The Two Brothers, and other poems |  |
140
TO MY SISTER, ON THE EVE OF HER MARRIAGE.
I.
Thou art leaving the home of thy childhood,Sweet sister mine:
Is the song of the bird of the wild wood
Faint and far as thine?
Listless stray thy fingers through the chords,
Thy voice falters in the old familiar words;
What wilt thou for the young glad voices
Wherewith our earliest home rejoices?
A father's smile benign,
A mother's love divine,
Sweet sister mine?
141
II.
Lay thy hand upon thy mouth, brother,Lay thy hand upon thy mouth;
One word thou hast spoken,—but another
Were perhaps too much for truth.
Home is left—oh! yes, if leaving
Be when home is in our heart:
Grieving—yes, 'tis grief, if grieving
Be for those who cannot part.
We are one, brother, we are one,—
Since first the golden cord was spun:
It may lengthen, but it cannot sever,
For, brother, it was twined—and twined for ever.
III.
Sister, touch again thy passionate lute—Chide no more—chide no more:
Sooner far my voice were ever mute,
Than to whisper our fond love were o'er.
But I grieve for hours gone by,
Of heart to heart, and eye to eye;
Oh, we cannot have the joy of meeting
Day by day thy sunny, smiling greeting;
142
Or a sister's searching tenderness;
Grieve I too for summer flowers,
In calm weather
Cull'd together,
And the merriment of fireside hours.
Something whispers, though our heartstrings cannot sever,
These are gone, sister,—gone for ever.
And for these I must repine,—
Sweet sister mine.
IV.
And my tears shall flow with thine, brother,At the sound of those quick chimes;
And the thought of home—my father and my mother—
Overfloods my heart at times;
And my grief will have its way:
And though to-morrow
Joy chaseth sorrow,
Sorrow chaseth joy to-day.
143
Let me weep, brother,—let me weep.
V.
Nay, I will not, cannot, sister, see them flow:Weep no more, weep no more.
There is solace from the deepest of our woe,
That our partings will ere long be o'er.
We are one in joys undying,
In the family of Heaven,
And we mourn not, like the Pleiads ever sighing,
“We have lost our sister—we were seven.”
Still, however wide our pilgrim footsteps roam,
Bright and glorious
Lie before us
Mansions in an everlasting home.
Trust me, sister; wherefore dost thou weep so sore?
Weep no more, sister,—weep no more.
For my spirit catches all the bloom of thine,
Nor can I in thy prime of bliss repine,
Sweet sister mine.
| The Two Brothers, and other poems | |