I praise thee while my days go on; I love thee while my days go on; Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost, With emptied arms and treasure lost. I thank thee while my days go on. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Waiting by the Gate. Beside a massive gateway built up in years gone by, The tree-tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's flight, Behold, the portals open, and o'er the threshold, now, In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets the hour Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing, throws O glory of our race that so suddenly decays! O crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze! Scatters a moment's sweetness, and flies we know not where! I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn ; Once more the gates are opened; an infant group go out, So come from every region, so enter, side by side, And some approach the threshold whose looks are blank with fear, Of him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die. I mark the joy, the terror; yet these, within my heart, Suspíría. Take them, O Death! and bear away Thine image, stamped upon this clay, Take them, O Grave! and let them lie As garments by the soul laid by, Take them, O great Eternity! Our little life is but a gust That bends the branches of thy tree, Bryant. Longfellow. Dropping Down the River. Dropping down the troubled river, To the spring-embosomed shore; Dropping down the winding river, Dropping down the noisy river, To our peaceful, peaceful home; Dropping down the rapid river, Where the living live forever, And the dead have joined the band, In that fair and blessed land! Horatius Bonar. The Deserted House. Life and Thought have gone away Leaving door and windows wide. All within is dark as night; In the windows is no light; And no murmur at the door, Close the door, the shutters close, Or through the windows we shall see Of the dark, deserted house. Come away: no more of mirth Is here or merry-making sound. Come away for Life and Thought Here no longer dwell; But in a city glorious A great and distant city — have bought A mansion incorruptible. Would they could have stayed with us! The Charmer. "We need some charmer, for our hearts are sore "What is this life? and what to us is death? Tennyson. Whence came we? whither go? and where are those Who, in a moment stricken from our side, Passed to that land of shadow and repose? "And are they dust? and dust must we become? And live anew beyond the waves of time?" So spake the youth of Athens, weeping round, They found him not, those youths of soul divine, Death came and found them - doubting as before. But years passed on; and lo! the Charmer came- Encircled only by his trusting few. "Let not your heart be troubled," then he said; 66 go My Father's house hath mansions large and fair; I will return to take you with me there." And since that hour the awful foe is charmed, H. B. Stowe. A German Funeral Hymn. '— HEB. Xili., 14. "Here we have no continuing city; but we seek one to come.” – Come forth! Come on! with solemn song! The road is short, the rest is long. The Lord brought here, he calls away, Make no delay, This home was for a passing day. |