Part 13 (1/2)

While lone winds chant a funeral stave, And pallid church-yard daisies wave About his new unsodded grave.

The skies are solemn with their throng Of choiring stars--and deep and strong The river moans an undersong.

Oh mournful wind! Oh moaning river, Oh golden planets, pausing never!

His lips have lost your song forever!

His lips, that done with pleadings vain-- And human sighing, born of pain-- Are hymning heav'ns triumphal strain.

The ages tragic Rhythm of change Clas.h.i.+ng on projects new and strange-- The tireless nations forward range--

Can ne'er disturb the perfect rest Wherein he lieth--being blest, With chill hands cross'd on silent breast.

Oh mourning heart! whose heavy plaint Drifts down the deathly shadows faint, Why weep ye for this risen saint?

His life's pale ashes, under foot That cling about the daisies' root Will bear at last most glorious fruit!

'Tis but the casket hid away Neath roof of stone and burial clay; The jewel s.h.i.+nes in endless day!

And thus I gather for my tears Sweet hope from faith in after years; And far across the glimmering spheres

Height over height the heavens expand-- I see him in G.o.d's Eden land, With palms of vict'ry in his hand;

O'er brows of solemn breadth profound, With fadeless wreaths of glory wound, He stands a seraph, robed and crowned.

Aye! in a vision, see I now; Christ's symbol written on his brow-- Found worthy unto death art thou!

And ever in this heart of mine, So won to glorious peace, divine This vision of our lost shall s.h.i.+ne;

Not with pale forehead in eclipse With close-sealed lids and silent lips, But grand in Life's Apocalypse!

For very truly hath been said-- For the pale living--not the dead-- Should mourning's bitterest tears be shed!

MISSIVE TO ----.

Purple shafts of sunset fire Glory-crown the pa.s.sionate sea, Throbbing with a fierce desire For the blue immensity.

Floods of pale and scarlet flame Sweep the bases of the hills, With a blus.h.i.+ng unto shame Thro' their rosy bridal-thrills.

Slowly to the gorgeous West Twilight paces from the East, Like a dark, unbidden guest Going to a marriage feast.

Dian--palaced in the blue-- O'er the eve-star, newly born, Shakes a sweet baptismal dew From her pearly drinking-horn.

Not the Ocean's fiery soul Throbbing up thro' all his deeps-- Not the sunset tides that roll Gloriously against the steeps

Of the hills, that to the stars Lift their regal wedded brows, Glittering, through the golden bars Clasping close their nuptial snows.

Not the palace lights of Hesper In the Queendom of the Moon, Win me from that lovely vesper-- The last one of our last June.

Oh the golden-tressed minutes!