To My Sister

Thou'rt sleeping calmly in thy tomb, While I from day to day Still blunder on amid the gloom Of life's uncertain way.

Thou'rt resting here in perfect peace, Kind Heaven favoured thee, In that it willed thee quick release From all the cares that be.

But thou wert ne'er a child of earth, Ne'er like the noisy crowd Who clustered round our father's hearth — Thy voice was never loud.

And sometimes when the moon at night Shines through the open door, And casts a belt of silver light Across our humble floor —

I fancy then, my sister dear, That back to earth and me Thy spirit floats; I feel thee near, Though thee I cannot see.

I stretch vain arms that would enfold Thee in a fond embrace, Forgetting long, long, years have rolled Since I beheld thy face.

'Twas well thou could'st not long remain Where care would be thy lot, Nor would I have thee back again, God knows, dear, I would not.

In vain in thought I backward stray And search from year to year To record find of e'en a day Unclouded by a care.

Joy never twined a wreath for me In May-day's sunniest hours, But sorrow's tares were safe to be Inwoven with the flowers.

It hovers o'er me through the night And robs me of my rest, Nor flies when morning sunbeams light The dew on nature's breast.

But storms may beat about thy grave And rage above thy head; It frets thee not how winds may rave — Safe in thy silent bed.

And I could oft without regret Resign each cherished scheme And rest with thee, so care beset And weary do I seem.

But not while shines an harvest sun Must slumber come to me, At eve, with full day's labour done Sweeter the rest will be.