Thy breath is in the gale
Whose kiss unseals the violet’s azure eye;
And though the roses in our path grow pale,
We know that all things change, they do not die.
Wherever man may roam,
Thy presence, viewless as the Summer air,
Meets him abroad, or in his peaceful home,
And when Death calls him forth, thou, too, art there.
Thou art where soul meets soul,
Or where earth’s noblest fall in battle strife;
But Death, the Spoiler, yields to thy control;
Forevermore thou art the conqueror, Life.
Leaves have their glad recall,
And blossoms open to the South wind’s breath,
And stars that set shall rise again, for all,
All things shall triumph o’er the Spoiler—Death.
REFORMERS.
Where have the world’s great heroes gone,
The champions of the Right,
Who, with their armor girded on,
Have passed beyond our sight?
Are they where palms immortal wave,
And laurels crown the brow?
Or was the victory thine, O Grave?
Where are they? Answer thou.
We shudder at the silence dread,
That renders no reply—
O, dust! from whence the soul hath fled,
Thou canst not hear our cry.
The violet, o’er their mouldering clay,
Looks meekly from the sod,
But tells not of the hidden way
Their angel feet have trod.
Where are they, Death? thou mighty one!
To some far land unknown,
Beyond the stars, beyond the sun,
Have their bright spirits flown?
Their hearts were strong through Truth and Right,
Life’s stormy tide to stem.
O Death! thou conqueror of might!
What need hadst thou of them?
The earth is green with martyrs’ graves,
On hill, and plain, and shore,
And the great ocean’s sounding waves
Sweep over thousands more.
For us they drained life’s bitter cup,
And dared the battle strife;
Where are they, Death? O, render up
The secret of their life!