The Legend of the Golden Prayers and other poems ::

Hush, heaving sigh! Hush, murmur'd whisper!
Swell forth, ye words of love and dread!
“Take, eat, His life for you was given;
Drink ye; His blood for you was shed!”

Dim grows thy dark eye, kneeling mother,
There's anguish on thy bended brow;
Ay, weep, there come no second flowers
When Autumn strips the laden bough.

O broken spirit, meek-eyed creature,
Well may thy brimming eyes run o'er,
Since yet a darker drop may mingle
Within the cup so full before!

And thou, too, honour'd one and cherish'd,
Most happy wife and mother blest,
There comes a cloud o'er thy pure heaven,
Which not the brightness of the rest,

Which not even his dear love who kneeleth
Close at thy side can banish quite;
For stars that have an equal lustre
Yet shine not with each other's light.

Come, gentle nurse, come, fair young sisters,
Draw closer still the narrowing chain,
Another golden link must sever,
Ye cannot commune thus again.

Once more, once more—death's deepening shadow
Broods o'er our little field of light,
Ere yet the heavy cloud is scatter'd
That wrapp'd our fairest from our sight.

Whom, as we linger by thy pillow,
Dear saint, in look, in smile, in tone,
We trace again, like skies reflecting
The sunlight when the sun is gone.

Still swells the Eucharistic measure,
The feast of love and life is o'er,
The angels joining, and archangels,
And saints who rest and sin no more.

Ah! not at Christ's own altar kneeling,
Our hearts should thrill, our eyes grow dim,
As though we had not known His presence,
And were not ever one in Him.

The dead—they are the truly living,
They live to God, to love, to us;
Why should the prescience of brief parting
Sadden the Christian spirit thus?

Nay, gently lay her on His bosom,—
Nay, gladly give her to His care,
Lest we forget in our own sorrow
How bright the crown His ransom'd wear.

University of Virginia Library

II. THE LAST COMMUNION.