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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH.
But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.
She is not dead, - the child of our affection,
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
Day after day we think what she is doing
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
May reach her where she lives.
And though, at times, impetuous with emotion
There is no Death! What seems so is transition: Of village boys and girls at play
Not as a child shall we again behold her;
In our embraces we again enfold her,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,
When the soft green buds are bursting out,
hood, Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces.
How some they have died, and some they have
And some are taken from me; all are departed ;
THEY ARE ALL GONE.
THEY are all gone into the world of light,
And my sad thoughts doth clear;
It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
I see them walking in an air of glory,
O holy hope and high humility,
These are your walks, and you have showed them
To kindle my cold love.
Dear, beauteous death, the jewel of the just, -
He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair dell or grove he sings in now,
And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted
And into glory peep.
If a star were confined into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn there, But when the hand that locked her up gives room, She'll shine through all the sphere.
Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my child- O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under thee!
Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall