Did mourners come in scorn,
And thus forlorn,
Leave him, with grief and shame.
To silence and decay,
And hide the tarnished name
Of the unconscious clay?
It may be from his side
His loved ones died,
And last of some bright band,
(Together now once more,)
He sought his home, the land
Where they had gone before.
No matter—limes have made
As cool a shade,
And lingering breezes pass
As tenderly and slow,
As if beneath the grass
A monarch slept below.
No grief, though loud and deep,
Could stir that sleep;
And earth and heaven tell
Of rest that shall not cease,
Where the cold world’s farewell
Fades into endless peace.
VERSE: GIVE ME THY HEART
With echoing steps the worshippers
Departed one by one;
The organ’s pealing voice was stilled,
The vesper hymn was done;
The shadows fell from roof and arch,
Dim was the incensed air,
One lamp alone with trembling ray,
Told of the Presence there!
In the dark church she knelt alone;
Her tears were falling fast;
“Help, Lord,” she cried, “the shades of death
Upon my soul are cast!
Have I not shunned the path of sin,
And chosen the better part?”
What voice came through the sacred air?—
“My child, give me thy Heart!”
“Have I not laid before Thy shrine
My wealth, oh Lord?” she cried;
“Have I kept aught of gems or gold,
To minister to pride?
Have I not bade youth’s joys retire,
And vain delights depart?”—
But sad and tender was the voice—
“My child, give me thy Heart!”
“Have I not, Lord, gone day by day
Where Thy poor children dwell;
And carried help, and gold, and food?
Oh Lord, Thou knowest it well!
From many a house, from many a soul,
My hand bids care depart:”—
More sad, more tender, was the voice—
“My child, give me thy Heart!”
“Have I not worn my strength away
With fast and penance sore?
Have I not watched and wept?” she cried;
“Did Thy dear Saints do more?
Have I not gained Thy grace, oh Lord,
And won in Heaven my part?”—
It echoed louder in her soul—
“My child, give me thy Heart!”