Classic Poem

Ye holy ministers of Love,
Blest dwellers in the upper spheres,
In vain we fix our gaze above,
For we are blinded by our tears.
O, tell us to what land unknown
The soul of him we love has flown?

He left us when his manly heart
With earnest hope was beating high;
Too soon it seemed for us to part;
Too soon, alas! for him to die.
We have the tenement of clay,
But aye the soul has passed away.

Away, into the unknown dark,
With fearless heart and steady hand,
He calmly launched his fragile bark,
To seek the spirits' Father Land.
Say, has he reached some distant shore,
To speak with us, on earth no more?

We gaze into unmeasured space,
And lift our tearful eyes above,
To catch the gleaming of his face,
Or one light whisper of his love.
O God! O Angels! hear our cry,
Nor let our faith in darkness die!

Hark! for a voice of gentle tone
The answer to our cry hath given,
Soft as Æolian harpstrings blown,
Responsive to the breath of even —
" I have not sought a distant shore;
Lo! I am with you — weep no more.

" Ay! Love is stronger far than death,
And wins the victory o'er the Grave;
Dependent on no mortal breath,
Its mission is to guide and save.
Above the wrecks of Death and Time,
It triumphs, changeless and sublime.

" Still shall my love its vigils keep,
True as the needle to the pole,
For Death is not a dreamless sleep,
Nor is the Grave man's final goal.
The larger growth, — the life divine, —
All that I hoped or wished, are mine. "

Blest spirit! we will weep no more,
But lay our selfishness to rest;
The Providence, which we adore,
Has ordered all things for the best.
Life's battle fought, the victory won,
To nobler toils pass on! pass on!