In Memoriam.
They are gone away,
No prayers could avail us to longer keep
The ships called out on the unknown deep,
We saw them sail off, some lingeringly,
Some suddenly summoned put out to sea;
They stepped aboard, and the planks were drawn in,
But their sweet, pale faces were free from sin;
As they turned to whisper one last good bye,
We sent after each one a bitter cry;
We knew on that track,
They would never come back,
By night or day.
Ah, we've closed dear eyes,
But God be thanked that they, one and all,
Had the heaven light touch them before the pall;
They saw the fair land that we could not see,
And one said, "Jesus is standing by me,"
And one, "The water of life I hear,"
And one, "There's no suffering nor sorrow here,"
One, "I have seen the city of countless charms,"
One, "'Neath me are the Everlasting Arms,"
So we know it is best,
They should be at rest,
In God's paradise.
Mary's Blessed Son,
Thou wilt not chide if thou see'st that low
Our harps are hanging on willow bough;
We would not murmur, we know it is well,
They are gone from the battle, the shot and shell,
And in our anguish we're not alone;
The Father knows all the grief we have known;
Oh God, who once heard the Christ's bitter cry,
Thou knowest what we feel when we see them die.
Our light, has been hid
By the coffin lid,
And dark our noon.
God hears our moan,
He knows how a stricken heart had said,
"Oh, number her not with the silent dead,
For if she stays watching the golden sea,
God help, for what will become of me?
The last rose out of my childhood's bower,
From my English garden, the last sweet flower;
Take me instead, for none call me mother."
The messenger said, "I take no other."
So she went the road
The others have trod,
And I am alone.
We shall meet again;
I fancy sometimes how they talk together,
Of the way they travelled, the stormy weather
That beat so hard on their pilgrim road,
Now changed for the city of their God;
I wonder if in their special home,
They keep choice rooms till their darlings come.
Saviour, who loves them, protect and guide me
Where they are waiting 'neath life's fadeless tree,
Father and mother,
And elder brother,
And sisters twain.
A Song of the Flowers.
"Why are you weeping, ye gentle flowers?
Are ye not blest in your sunny bowers?
Have you startling dreams that make ye weep,
When waking up from your holy sleep?
"Ah, knowest thou not, we fold at night,
The tears earth drops from her eyelids bright,
Like a loving mother her griefs are born,
Lest her tender nurslings should die ere morn,
And the sweet dew falls in each open cup,
Till the eyes of morn are lifted up;
We unfold our leaves to the sun's bright face,
And close them up at the night's embrace.
Dost thou ask if grief comes creeping across,
From the poplar bough to the dark green moss?
No, round us the sunbeams smile and glow,
Round us the streamlets dance and flow,
And the zephyr comes with its gentle breeze,
To sigh out its life in the young green trees,
And then from the beds where the flowers grow,
Rises a melody soft and low.