O cold! yet look again,
There is a wandering vein
Traced in the hand where those white snowdrops lie.
Let her rapt dreamy smile
The wondering heart beguile,
That almost thinks to hear a calm contented sigh.
What silence dwells between
Those severed lips serene!
The rapture of sweet waiting breathes and grows.
What
trance-like peace is shed
On
her reclining head,
And e’en on listless feet what languor of repose!
Angels
of joy and love
Lean
softly from above
And whisper to her sweet and marvellous things;
Tell
of the golden gate
That
opened wide doth wait,
And shadow her dim sleep with their celestial wings.
Hearing
of that blest shore
She
thinks on earth no more,
Contented to forego this wintry land.
She
has nor thought nor care
But
to rest calmly there,
And hold the snowdrops pale that blossom in her hand.
But
on the other face
Broodeth
a mournful grace,
This had foreboding thoughts beyond her years,
While
sinking thus to sleep
She
saw her mother weep,
And could not lift her hand to dry those heart-sick
tears.
Could
not—but failing lay,
Sighed
her young life away.
And let her arm drop down in listless rest,
Too weary on that bed
To turn her dying head,
Or fold the little sister nearer to her breast.
Yet this is faintly told
On features fair and cold,
A look of calm surprise, of mild regret,
As if with life oppressed
She turned her to her rest,
But felt her mother’s love and looked not to
forget.
How wistfully they close,
Sweet eyes, to their repose!
How quietly declines the placid brow!
The young lips seem to say,
“I have wept much to-day,
And felt some bitter pains, but they are over now.”
Sleep! there are left below
Many who pine to go,
Many who lay it to their chastened souls,
That gloomy days draw nigh,
And they are blest who die,
For this green world grows worse the longer that she
rolls.
And as for me I know
A little of her woe,
Her yearning want doth in my soul abide,
And sighs of them that weep,
“O put us soon to sleep,
For when we wake—with Thee—we
shall be satisfied.”
HYMNS.
THE MEASURELESS GULFS OF AIR ARE FULL OF THEE.
“In Him we live, and move, and have our being.”
The measureless gulfs of air are full of Thee:
Thou Art, and therefore hang the stars;
they wait,
And swim, and shine in God who bade them be,
And hold their sundering voids inviolate.