They speak of a love that can never die,
But strengthen and grow with time;
Of lives that blossom again on high,--
Of a faith and hope sublime.
They tell how a grateful nation's heart
Remembers her tried and true,
And how tears are shed for the honored dead,
For the boys who wore the blue.
They speak of the higher and purer life
That the Lord's dear angels know;
Where nought can enter of pain or strife,
And tears can never flow.
Sleep on brave boys your graves are as green
As the thoughts we give to ye,
And these blooms will say ye are shrined alway
In the halls of memory.
Forest Hill Cemetery, May 30th, 1872
[AT SET OF SUN]
If we sit down at set of sun,
And count the things that we have done,
And counting, find
One self-denying act, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard,
One glance, most kind,
That fell like sunshine where it went--
Then we may count that day well spent.
Or, on the other hand, if we,
In looking through the day, can see
A place or spot
Where we an unkind act put down,
Or where we smiled when wont to frown,
Or crushed some thought
That cumbered the heart--ground where it stood--
Then we may count that day as good.
But if, through all the life-long day,
We've eased no heart by yea or nay;
If through it all
We've done no thing that we can trace,
That brought the sunshine to a face--
No act most small
That helped some soul, and nothing cost--
Then count that day as worse than lost.
1869
[LOVE SONG]
When the glad spring time walked over the border,
And the brown honey bee crept from his cell;
When the sun and the west wind put nature in order,
And decked her in robes that became her so well,
Then did my torpid heart waken from slumber,
Then did I first spring to life and to light.
For what were the years passed without thee; they number
Only as one long, dark, flavorless night.