The Mourners
LOW she lies, who blest our eyes
Through many a sunny day;
She may not smile, she will not rise—
The life hath past away!
Yet there is a world of light beyond,
Where we neither die nor sleep—
She is there, of whom our souls were fond—
Then wherefore do we weep?
The heart is cold, whose thoughts were told
In each glance of her glad bright eye;
And she lies pale, who was so bright,
She scarce seemed made to die.
Yet we know that her soul is happy now,
Where the saints their calm watch keep;
That angels are crowning that fair young brow—
Then wherefore do we weep?
Her laughing voice made all rejoice,
Who caught the happy sound;
There was gladness in her very step,
As it lightly touched the ground.
The echoes of voice and step are gone;
There is silence still and deep:
Yet we know she sings by God’s bright throne—
Then wherefore do we weep?
The cheek’s pale tinge, the lid’s dark fringe;
That lies like a shadow there,
Were beautiful in the eyes of all—
And her glossy golden hair!
But though that lid may never wake
From its dark and dreamless sleep,
She is gone where young hearts do not break—
Then wherefore do we weep?
That world of light with joy is bright,
This is a world of woe:
Shall we grieve that her soul hath taken flight,
Because we dwell below?
We will bury her under the mossy sod,
And one long bright tress we’ll keep;
We have only given her back to God—
Ah! wherefore do we weep?
