Classic Poem

Two little mounds of common earth heaped up where they are sleeping;
A simple slab of marble at the head, their two names keeping:
Two rose trees drooped at either side their monthly bloom bestowing,
Some pansies and verbena flowers in royal purple glowing.

And this is all which now appeals to sight or senses human,
Of him who was the noblest man, of her the sweetesTwoman,
That ever for a little time, a time too quickly flying,
Brightened the world by living in't, or darkened it by dying.

He walked along life's common ways, a meek and quiet spirit,
Filling his years with noble deeds, for which he claimed no merit;
His faithful heart bore bravely on through many a fiery trial,
And earth was poorer when his light faded from time's broad dial.

But she was gifted with rare gifts creative, far discerning,
And faith in God, that tempered all the lights of human learning:
A lovely, lofty womanhood, with gentle, child-like sweetness;
A life, not measured by its years, rounded to full completeness.

He left us when the frost of age had marred life's summer bowers;
She when her feet had scarcely brushed the dew-drops from its flowers.
Round him the evening shadows fell meet for the weary-hearted;
Round her the morning sunlight shone, and with her all departed.

The little house we built for them is very plain and lowly:
Its roof is simply thatched with grass, but every blade is holy:
It has no vestibule nor hall, no hearthstone, door nor lattice,
Yet well befits their uses, its appointments and its status.

I stand a-near it many a time, and speak fond words of greeting;
Then listen, but I only hear my own wild pulses beating.
And oft I weep for love and loss till all my soul is shaken;
They never try to soothe me now; alas! they never waken.

They waken not at morning's dawn, nor yet at day's declining;
Alike to them is storm and calm, cloud-shadow and sun-shining.
They take no note-of winter's snows nor summer's trailing greenery—
Ah, no, they sleep too well below to think of earthly scenery!

O Death! O Sorrow! ye are strong; but God, who all created,
Is stronger still. He will restore what ye have desolated.
They loved Him, trusted Him, and gave their all to His dear keeping;
Their names are on His hands, and He will waken them from sleeping.

And oft I think how sweet 'twill be when the long night is over,
When Christ shall come in majesty, His jewels to recover;
That they will see each other first to life and love returning,
Look in each other's eyes, clasp hands, and say again, “Good-Morning.”