Classic Poem

Angel

Bury thy dead, dear friend,
Between the night and day;
Where depths of summer shade are cool,
And murmurs of a summer pool
And windy murmurs stray: —

Soul

Ah, gone away,
Ah, dear and lost delight,
Gone from me and for ever out of sight.

Angel

Bury thy dead, dear love,
And make his bed most fair above;
The latest buds shall still
Blow there, and the first violets too,
And there a turtle dove
Shall brood and coo: —

Soul

I cannot make the nest
So warm, but he may find it chill
In solitary rest.

Angel

Bury thy dead heart-deep;
Take patience till the sun be set;
There are no tears for him to weep,
No doubts to haunt him yet:
Take comfort, he will not forget: —

Soul

Then I will watch beside his sleep;
Will watch alone,
And make my moan
Because the harvest is so long to reap.

Angel

The fields are white to harvest, look and see,
Are white abundantly.
The harvest moon shines full and clear,
The harvest time is near,
Be of good cheer: —

Soul

Ah, woe is me;
I have no heart for harvest time,
Grown sick with hope deferred from chime to chime.

Angel

But One can give thee heart, thy Lord and his,
Can raise both thee and him
To shine with Seraphim
And pasture where the eternal fountain is.
Can give thee of that tree
Whose leaves are health for thee;
Can give thee robes made clean and white,
And love, and all delight,
And beauty where the day turns not to night.
Who knocketh at His door
And presseth in, goes out no more.
Kneel as thou hast not knelt before —
The time is short — and smite
Upon thy breast and pray with all thy might: —

Soul

O Lord, my heart is broken for my sin:
Yet hasten Thine Own day
And come away.
Is not time full? Oh put the sickle in,
O Lord, begin.