Reverie

Only a few more years!

Weary years!

Only a few more tears!

Bitter tears!

And then — and then — like other men,

I cease to wander, cease to weep,

Dim shadows o'er my way shall creep;

And out of the day and into the night,

Into the dark and out of the bright

I go, and Death shall veil my face,

The feet of the years shall fast efface

My very name, and every trace

I leave on earth; for the stern years tread —

Tread out the names of the gone and dead!

And then, ah! then, like other men,

I close my eyes and go to sleep,

Only a few, one hour, shall weep:

Ah! me, the grave is dark and deep!

Alas! Alas!

How soon we pass!

And ah! we go

So far away;

When go we must,

From the light of Life, and the heat of strife,

To the peace of Death, and the cold, still dust,

We go — we go — we may not stay,

We travel the lone, dark, dreary way;

Out of the day and into the night,

Into the darkness, out of the bright.

And then, ah! then, like other men,

We close our eyes and go to sleep;

We hush our hearts and go to sleep;

Only a few, one hour, shall weep:

Ah! me, the grave is lone and deep!

I saw a flower, at morn, so fair;

I passed at eve, it was not there.

I saw a sunbeam, golden bright,

I saw a cloud the sunbeam's shroud,

And I saw night

Digging the grave of day;

And day took off her golden crown,

And flung it sorrowfully down.

Ah! day, the Sun's fair bride!

At twilight moaned and died.

And so, alas! like day we pass:

At morn we smile,

At eve we weep,

At morn we wake,

In night we sleep.

We close our eyes and go to sleep:

Ah! me, the grave is still and deep!

But God is sweet.

My mother told me so,

When I knelt at her feet

Long — so long — ago;

She clasped my hands in hers.

Ah! me, that memory stirs

My soul's profoundest deep —

No wonder that I weep.

She clasped my hands and smiled,

Ah! then I was a child —

I knew not harm —

My mother's arm

Was flung around me; and I felt

That when I knelt

To listen to my mother's prayer,

God was with my mother there.

Yea! “God is sweet!”

She told me so;

She never told me wrong;

And through my years of woe

Her whispers soft, and sad, and low,

And sweet as Angel's song,

Have floated like a dream.

And, ah! to-night I seem

A very child in my old, old place,

Beneath my mother's blessed face,

And through each sweet remembered word,

This sweetest undertone is heard:

“My child! my child! our God is sweet,

In Life — in Death — kneel at his feet —

Sweet in gladness, sweet in gloom,

Sweeter still beside the tomb.”

Why should I wail? Why ought I weep?

The grave — it is not dark and deep;

Why should I sigh? Why ought I moan?

The grave — it is not still and lone;

Our God is sweet, our grave is sweet,

We lie there sleeping at His feet,

Where the wicked shall from troubling cease,

And weary hearts shall rest in peace!