Soliloquy Over the Grave of a Wife
IT cannot be that thou art dead; that now
I watch beside thy grave, and with my tears
Nourish the flowers that blossom over thee;
I cannot think that thou art dead and gone;
That naught remains to me of what thou wert,
Save that which lieth here,—dust unto dust.
When the bright sun arises, and its rays
Pass noiseless through my chamber, then methinks
That thou art with me still; that I can see
Thy flowing hair; and thy bright glancing eye
Beams on me with a look none other can.
And when at noon life’s busy tumult makes
My senses reel, and I almost despair,
Thou comest to me and I’m cheered again;
Thine own bright smile illuminates my way,
And one by one the gathered clouds depart,
Till not a shadow lies upon my path.
Night, with its long and sombre shadows, treads
Upon the steps that morn and noon have trod;
And, as our children gather round my knee,
And lisp those evening prayers thy lips have taught,
I cannot but believe that thou art near.
But when they speak of “mother,” when they say
“’T is a long time since she hath left our side,”
And when they ask, in their soft infant tones,
When they again shall meet thee,—then I feel
A sudden sadness o’er my spirit come:
And when sleep holds them in its silken bands
I wander here, to this fair spot they call
Thy grave (as though this feeble earth could hold
Thee in its cold embrace), and weep and sigh;
Yet, trusting, look above to yon bright sphere,
And feel thou art not dead, but living there.
It is not thou that fills this spot of earth,
It is not thou o’er whom these branches wave,
These blooming roses only mark the spot
Where but remaineth that thou couldst not wear
Amid immortal scenes.
Thou livest yet!
Thy feet do tread the golden courts of heaven;
Thy hands have touched the harps that angels use;
Thy eyes have seen the glory of our Lord;
Thy ears have listened to that song of praise
Which angels utter, and which God accepts.