Poetry Archives

And when the Lord saw her, He had compassion on her, and
said unto her, Weep not.  And He came and touched the bier;
and they that bare him stood still.   And He said, Young
man, I say unto thee, Arise.—St. Luke vii. 13, 14.


Who says, the wan autumnal soon
   Beams with too faint a smile
To light up nature’s face again,
And, though the year be on this wane,
   With thoughts of spring the heart beguile?

Waft him, thou soft September breeze,
   And gently lay him down
Within some circling woodland wall,
Where bright leaves, reddening ere they fall,
   Wave gaily o’er the waters brown.

And let some graceful arch be there
   With wreathed mullions proud,
With burnished ivy for its screen,
And moss, that glows as fresh and green
   As thought beneath an April cloud.—

Who says the widow’s heart must break,
   The childless mother sink?—
A kinder truer voice I hear,
Which e’en beside that mournful bier
   Whence parents’ eyes would hopeless shrink,

Bids weep no more—O heart bereft,
   How strange, to thee, that sound!
A widow o’er her only son,
Feeling more bitterly alone
   For friends that press officious round.

Yet is the voice of comfort heard,
   For Christ hath touched the bier—
The bearers wait with wondering eye,
The swelling bosom dares not sigh,
   But all is still, ‘twixt hope and fear.

E’en such an awful soothing calm
   We sometimes see alight
On Christian mourners, while they wait
In silence, by some churchyard gate,
   Their summons to this holy rite.

And such the tones of love, which break
   The stillness of that hour,
Quelling th’ embittered spirit’s strife—
“The Resurrection and the Life
   Am I:  believe, and die no more.”

Unchanged that voice—and though not yet
   The dead sit up and speak,
Answering its call; we gladlier rest
Our darlings on earth’s quiet breast,
   And our hearts feel they must not break.

Far better they should sleep awhile
   Within the Church’s shade,
Nor wake, until new heaven, new earth,
Meet for their new immortal birth
   For their abiding-place be made,

Than wander back to life, and lean
   On our frail love once more.
’Tis sweet, as year by year we lose
Friends out of sight, in faith to muse
   How grows in Paradise our store.

Then pass, ye mourners, cheerly on,
   Through prayer unto the tomb,
Still, as ye watch life’s falling leaf,
Gathering from every loss and grief
   Hope of new spring and endless home.

Then cheerly to your work again
   With hearts new-braced and set
To run, untired, love’s blessed race.
As meet for those, who face to face
   Over the grave their Lord have met.