“Let me go to the Great Spirit,
To the lodge of peace and plenty,
To the land of summer sunshine,
That with life and strength and gladness,
I may meet you yet again.”
Then the soft hand of Oweena
Gently lifted Nah-me-o-ka,
Who with wondering eyes beheld her,
Like a light amid the darkness.
And Oweena safely led her
Through the tempest and the midnight,
To the lodge of Massa-wam-sett,
Kissed her tenderly—and vanished.
From that time did Nah-me-o-ka
Dry her tears, and cease her moaning,
For she said, “I will not keep her
From the land of summer sunshine,
From the home of peace and plenty,
From the lodge of the Great Spirit.
Neen wo-ma-su! Neen wo-ma-su!
In the land of the Hereafter
I shall meet her yet again.”
GONE IS GONE, AND DEAD IS DEAD.
“On returning to the inn, he found there a wandering minstrel—a woman—singing, and accompanying her voice with the music of a harp. The burden of her song was, ‘Gone is gone, and dead is dead.’ The utter hopelessness of these words filled his soul with anguish. ‘O,’ he exclaimed, ‘thou loved and lost one! patient and long-suffering, would that I could call thee back again, not to forgive me—O, no!—but rather that I might have the consolation of showing thee, by my repentance, how differently I would conduct towards thee now.”—Jean Paul Richter.
“Gone is gone, and dead is dead!”
Words to hopeless sorrow wed—
Words from deepest anguish wrung,
Which a lonely wand’rer sung,
While her harp prolonged the strain,
Like a spirit’s cry of pain
When all hope with life is fled:
“Gone is gone, and dead is dead.”
Mournful singer! hearts unknown
Thrill responsive to that tone;
By a common weal and woe,
Kindred sorrows all must know.
Lips all tremulous with pain
Oft repeat that sad refrain
When the fatal shaft is sped—
“Gone is gone, and dead is dead.”
Pain and death are everywhere—
In the earth, and sea, and air;
And the sunshine’s golden glance,
And the heaven’s serene expanse,
With a silence calm and high,
Seem to mock that mournful cry
Wrung from hearts by hope unfed—
“Gone is gone, and dead is dead.”
O, ye sorrowing ones, arise;
Wipe the tear-drops from your eyes;
Lift your faces to the light;
Read Death’s mystery aright.
Life unfolds from life within,
And with death does life begin.
Of the soul can ne’er be said,
“Gone is gone, and dead is dead.”