He was so young and fair; and life was sweet.
Christ give the mourners strength to drain the cup.
He went to make the Heavenly ranks complete.
God sent the angel Death, to bear him up
So young, and fair and brave; so loved by all;
The lisping child-life's veteran, bent and gray--
The eyes grew dim, and bitter tear-drops fall
Upon the mound where lies the soldier's clay.
Oh! it is sweet to feel that God knows best,
Who called in youth this brother, friend and son,
And sweet to lean upon the Saviour's breast,
And looking upward, say, "Thy will be done."
But something is missing from the balmy spring;
There is no perfume in its gentle breath,
And there are sobs in songs the wild birds sing,
And all the bees chant of the grave, and death.
[SEARCHING.]
These quiet autumn days,
My soul, like Noah's dove, on airy wings
Goes out, and searches for the hidden things
Beyond the hills of haze.
With mournful, pleading cries,
Above the waters of the voiceless sea
That laps the shores of Eternity,
Day after day it flies.
Searching, but all in vain,
For some stray leaf that it may light upon
And read the future as the days agone--
Its pleasure and its pain.
Listening, patiently,
For some voice speaking from the mighty deep,
Revealing all the secrets it doth keep
In silence, there for me.
Come back and wait, my soul!
Day after day thy search has been in vain.
Voiceless and silent o'er the future's pain,
Its mystic waters roll.
God seeing, knoweth best,
And day by day the waters shall subside,
And thou shalt know what lies beneath the tide;
Then wait, my soul, and rest.