Our Sweet Singer

J. A.

1872

ONE memory trembles on our lips; It throbs in every breast; In tear-dimmed eyes, in mirth's eclipse, The shadow stands confessed.

O silent voice, that cheered so long Our manhood's marching day, Without thy breath of heavenly song, How weary seems the way!

Vain every pictured phrase to tell Our sorrowing heart's desire,-- The shattered harp, the broken shell, The silent unstrung lyre;

For youth was round us while he sang; It glowed in every tone; With bridal chimes the echoes rang, And made the past our own.

Oh blissful dream! Our nursery joys We know must have an end, But love and friendship's broken toys May God's good angels mend!

The cheering smile, the voice of mirth And laughter's gay surprise That please the children born of earth. Why deem that Heaven denies?

Methinks in that refulgent sphere That knows not sun or moon, An earth-born saint might long to hear One verse of "Bonny Doon ";

Or walking through the streets of gold In heaven's unclouded light, His lips recall the song of old And hum "The sky is bright."

And can we smile when thou art dead? Ah, brothers, even so! The rose of summer will be red, In spite of winter's snow.

Thou wouldst not leave us all in gloom Because thy song is still, Nor blight the banquet-garland's bloom With grief's untimely chill.

The sighing wintry winds complain,-- The singing bird has flown,-- Hark! heard I not that ringing strain, That clear celestial tone?

How poor these pallid phrases seem, How weak this tinkling line, As warbles through my waking dream That angel voice of thine!

Thy requiem asks a sweeter lay; It falters on my tongue; For all we vainly strive to say, Thou shouldst thyself have sung!

H. C. M. H. S. J. K. W.

1873

THE dirge is played, the throbbing death-peal rung, The sad-voiced requiem sung; On each white urn where memory dwells The wreath of rustling immortelles Our loving hands have hung, And balmiest leaves have strown and tenderest blossoms flung.

The birds that filled the air with songs have flown, The wintry blasts have blown, And these for whom the voice of spring Bade the sweet choirs their carols sing Sleep in those chambers lone Where snows untrodden lie, unheard the night-winds moan.

We clasp them all in memory, as the vine Whose running stems intwine The marble shaft, and steal around The lowly stone, the nameless mound; With sorrowing hearts resign Our brothers true and tried, and close our broken line.

How fast the lamps of life grow dim and die Beneath our sunset sky! Still fading, as along our track We cast our saddened glances back, And while we vainly sigh The shadowy day recedes, the starry night draws nigh.

As when from pier to pier across the tide With even keel we glide, The lights we left along the shore Grow less and less, while more, yet more New vistas open wide Of fair illumined streets and casements golden-eyed.

Each closing circle of our sunlit sphere Seems to bring heaven more near Can we not dream that those we love Are listening in the world above And smiling as they hear The voices known so well of friends that still are dear?

Does all that made us human fade away With this dissolving clay? Nay, rather deem the blessed isles Are bright and gay with joyous smiles, That angels have their play, And saints that tire of song may claim their holiday.

All else of earth may perish; love alone Not heaven shall find outgrown! Are they not here, our spirit guests, With love still throbbing in their breasts? Once more let flowers be strown. Welcome, ye shadowy forms, we count you still our own!