=Sarah J. Lippincott.=
From Putnam's Magazine.
=422.= "ABSOLUTION."
The long day waned, when spent with pain, I seemed
To drift on slowly toward the restful shore,—
So near, I breathed in balm, and caught faint gleams
Of Lotus-blooms that fringe the waves of death,
And breathless Palms that crown the heights of God.
Then I bethought me how dear hands would close
These wistful eyes in welcome night, and fold
These poor, tired hands in blameless idleness.
In tender mood I pictured forth the spot
Wherein I should be laid to take my rest.
"It shall be in some paradise of graves,
Where Sun and Shade do hold alternate watch;
Where Willows sad trail low their tender green,
And pious Elms build arches worshipful,
O'ertowered by solemn Pines, in whose dark tops
Enchanted storm-winds sigh through summer-nights;
The stalwart exile from fair Lombardy,
And slender Aspens, whose quiet, watchful leaves
Give silver challenge to the passing breeze,
And softly flash and clash like fairy shields,
Shall sentinel that quiet camping ground;
The glow and grace of flowers will flood those mounds
An ever-widening sea of billowy bloom;
And not least lovely shall my grave-sod be,
With Myrtles blue, and nestling Violets,
And Star-flowers pale with watching—Pansies, dark,
With mourning thoughts, and Lilies saintly pure;
Deep-hearted Roses, sweet as buried love,
And Woodbine-blossoms dripping honeyed dew
Over a tablet and a sculptured name.
There little song-birds, careless of my sleep,
Shall shake fine raptures from their throats, and thrill
With life's triumphant joy the ear of Death;
And lovely, gauzy creatures of an hour
Preach immortality among the graves.
The chime of silvery waters shall be there—
A pleasant stream that winds among the flowers,
But lingers not, for that it ever hears,
Through leagues of wood and field and towered town,
The great sea calling from his secret deeps."
'Twas here, methought or dreamed, an angel came
And stood beside my couch, and bent on me
A face of solemn questioning, still and stern,
But passing beautiful, and searched my soul
With steady eyes, the while he seemed to say.
What hast thou done here, child, that thy poor dust
Should lie embosomed in such loveliness?
Why should the gracious trees stand guard o'er thee?
Hast thou aspired, like them, through all thy life,
And rest and healing with thy shadow cast?
Have deeds of thine brightened the world like flowers,
And sweetened it with holiest charities?
* * * * *
=Edmund Clarence Stedman,[98] 1833-.=