But all the while the sun gilds wood and meadow
And the fair cheeks, hectic glows and cheats,
I know grim death sits veiled in shadow
Weaving for both their winding sheets.
I cannot help, and I cannot save her.
My hands are as weak as a babe's, new-born;
I must yield her up to One who gave her
And wait for the resurrection morn.
[ALL THE WORLD.]
All the world is full of babies,
Sobbing, sighing everywhere,
Looking out with eyes of terror,
Beating at the empty air.
Do they see the strife before them,
That they sob and tremble so?
Oh, the helpless, frightened babies;
Still they come and still they go.
All the world is full of children,
Laughing over little joys;
Sighing over little troubles
Fingers bruised or broken toys
Wishing to be older, larger,
Weeping at some fancied woe.
Oh, the happy, hapless, children,
Still they come and still they go.
All the earth is full of lovers,
Walking slowly, whispering sweet,
Dreaming dreams and building castles
That must crumble at their feet;
Breaking vows and burning letters,
Smiling lest the world shall know.
Oh, the foolish, trusting lovers,
Still they come and still they go.
All the world is full of people,
Hurrying, pushing, rushing by,
Bearing burdens, carrying crosses,
Passing onward with a sigh;
Some like us, with smiling faces,
And their heavy hearts below.
Oh, the sad-eyed, burdened people--
How they come and how they go!
All the earth is full of corpses,
Dust and bones, laid there to rest,
This the end, that babes and children,
Lovers, people find at best;
All their cares and all their burdens,
All their sorrows, wearing so
Oh, the silent, happy corpses,
Sleeping soundly, lying low.
[LINES.]
Dedicated to Mr. and Mrs. D. Atwood upon the celebration
of their silver wedding, August 25th, 1874.
The harvest-moon of wedded love,
Fair in the heavens sailing,
Has reached mid-height, and, clear and bright,
Gives little sign of paling.