The Mourners

LOW she lies, who blest our eyes

    Through many a sunny day;

She may not smile, she will not rise--

    The life hath past away!

Yet there is a world of light beyond,

    Where we neither die nor sleep--

She is there, of whom our souls were fond--

    Then wherefore do we weep?

The heart is cold, whose thoughts were told

    In each glance of her glad bright eye;

And she lies pale, who was so bright,

    She scarce seemed made to die.

Yet we know that her soul is happy now,

    Where the saints their calm watch keep;

That angels are crowning that fair young brow--

    Then wherefore do we weep?

Her laughing voice made all rejoice,

    Who caught the happy sound;

There was gladness in her very step,

    As it lightly touched the ground.

The echoes of voice and step are gone;

    There is silence still and deep:

Yet we know she sings by God's bright throne--

    Then wherefore do we weep?

The cheek's pale tinge, the lid's dark fringe;

    That lies like a shadow there,

Were beautiful in the eyes of all--

    And her glossy golden hair!

But though that lid may never wake

    From its dark and dreamless sleep,

She is gone where young hearts do not break--

    Then wherefore do we weep?

That world of light with joy is bright,

    This is a world of woe:

Shall we grieve that her soul hath taken flight,

    Because we dwell below?

We will bury her under the mossy sod,

    And one long bright tress we'll keep;

We have only given her back to God--

    Ah! wherefore do we weep?