Why do we mourn? why do we sigh? We who may to-morrow lie With folded hands and death-sealed eye? A brave and gallant heart I knew:
Like some young sturdy oak he grew Nursed by the sun, refreshed by dew. His hopes were bright and high their aim: Above reproach or fear of shame
None ever lightly spoke his name. He left our cottage blithe and gay, And as he left we heard him say, “I will return at close of day.”
We watched him as he passed along, He was so manly, brave and strong, Oh, was the pride we cherished wrong? We thought of him as one designed
To bless and elevate mankind,— And it was well that we were blind! We did not see the gathering frown,— But long before the sun went down,
A dreadful rumor filled the town. They told us gently he was dead,— I would not credit what they said: But when I knew it reason fled.
I woke to real life once more; My dream of happiness was o'er — I stood upon a desert shore. All day I heard the billows moan,
All night I answered groan with groan, For I was desolate and lone. There came no message o'er the sea, No message from the lost to me,
And I repined at God's decree. The bolt was spared — and o'er my head The bow of mercy shone instead, And I at last was comforted.
Now when the billows rage and roar, I think it shortly will be o'er,— ‘ Tis calm upon the other shore. I look at Time as one who sees
A pale leaf floating on the breeze Amid a grove of noble trees. It fills awhile a little nook; To-day it is — to-morrow, look!
The great white Throne! the open Book! We stand upon a narrow space, Eternity rolls on apace — Where next shall be our resting-place?
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