your eyes are fixed and dim: Cold and motionless each limb;
Your low breath no more I catch
As I bend above you-hark!
'Tis his hand upon the latch:
He advances through the dark :
Your closed eyes shall see him never,
For his step is on your floor;
Then adieu, Old Man! for ever,
And adieu for evermore !
WHILE yet I trod this earthly sod
And the great Soul awaked in me,
I was not wont to pray to God
In others words with bended knee;
In formal phrase I could not see
Myself reflected, for I felt
The everlasting Deity
Inspiring within me dwelt.
I turned toward the open space,
As night or morn, or starred or clouded, I knew it was His dwelling-place,
In light enthroned, or darkness shrouded : And then I looked this shrine within,
This human temple, and I found
His Spirit there had ever been,
In triad-form, and each was crowned
With rays, and knelt in lowliness,
Hope, Faith, and Love, their lyres unstrung:
I raised their harp, and strove to express
The hymn that they had left unsung:
Alas! my efforts I repressed,
I felt my words were lost in air;
I clasped my hands across my breast,
I felt that thankfulness was prayer!
METHOUGHT I stood in realms beyond the grave,
Where in a waste and melancholy place,
I saw my Mother: the same pensive grace
Hung round her forehead, but upon her cheek
Tears, as if shed by one who strove to save
The thing it loved from ills, though all too weak.
I looked again into those anxious eyes
And read the same veiled tenderness, her breast
Sighed, as if filled with earthly memories.
I gazed on that loved face, and gazing blessed,
Until my eyes o'erflowed, but in those tears
I felt joy inexpressible, for they
While flowing brought me back to boyhood's years;
Waters that washed my human sins away!
TO MY CHILD AGNES, SLEEPING.
O THOU love of loves! thou sleepest,
But thy folded arms are joined
O'er thy bosom, and thou keepest
Those sweet fingers intertwined,
As if thou a prayer hadst caught
From some Angel, who had taught
Thee, ere came the birth of thought.
And how beautiful art thou,
Nestling in that golden rest!
How much lies beneath thy brow,
And the deeps of that hushed breast,
Of rich treasure unconfessed!
Marvels that thou canst not show
Joys that come to thee and go,
Ere thou of their birth dost know.
Lights that from those azure eyes
Flash forth, as from founts unbidden,
Telling or of wild surprise,
Or of hope or rapture hidden;
On the pensiveness that grows
From them, that around thee throws
Its soft shadow of repose.
And thy tears, that have a tongue,
Chased by smiles, the rays of gladness,
From thee like rich sun-light flung
On dewdrops from lilies hung:
And thy low tones, as of sadness
Or delight, each voice appealing
To the heart, each note a feeling
Of a life itself revealing.
And while sleeping thou dost lie,
Beauty in that face reposes,
Like a silent melody
Breathing from thy lips of roses!
And while those flaked tresses bright,
Tissue wove of golden light,
O'er thy veiny forehead sweeps,
Life beneath its vigil keeps
O'er the sacred Soul that sleeps!
Like a thing immortal straying,
That awhile had lost its way,
And in slumber yet was praying
For a heavenward guiding ray;
So thy hands press o'er thy heart,
And thy sweet lips smile apart,
As if thou didst hear the lays
Of seraphic harps that raise
To the Father songs of praise.
Or beside some stream elysian,
Dost thou, sweetest! gather flowers,
While heaven opened shows in vision
One that beckons from its bowers;
While thou sigh'st for wings to flee
To those haunts, where thou might'st be
Joyous and as bright as he?
Ah, no! other joys have taken
Thy light bosom for their home: Dimples round thy lip awaken, Thou art not in sleep forsaken,
Over green fields thou dost roam,
While thy youthful mother there
Weaves a rose-wreath for thy hair
That thou pantest but to wear !
And thy coral lips are parted,
Thou hast gained thy little will;
As the butterfly, light-hearted,
Thou in sport from her hast darted,
Dream on, and be happy still;
This, thy father's prayer o'er thee,
Oh, may thy life holy be
As the joy thou giv'st to me!
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