. Religious poems . loves, what schemes Far into life !What joyous hopes, what high resolves, What generous strife ! Only a Year 45 The silent picture on the wall, The burial stone,Of all that beauty, life, and joy Remain alone ! One year, — one year, — one little year, And so much gone !And yet the even flow of life Moves calmly on. The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair, Above that head ;No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray Says he is dead. No pause or hush of merry birds, That sing above,Tells us how coldly sleeps below The form we love. 46 Only a Year Where hast thou been this year, b
. Religious poems . loves, what schemes Far into life !What joyous hopes, what high resolves, What generous strife ! Only a Year 45 The silent picture on the wall, The burial stone,Of all that beauty, life, and joy Remain alone ! One year, — one year, — one little year, And so much gone !And yet the even flow of life Moves calmly on. The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair, Above that head ;No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray Says he is dead. No pause or hush of merry birds, That sing above,Tells us how coldly sleeps below The form we love. 46 Only a Year Where hast thou been this year, beloved ? What hast thou seen ?What visions fair, what glorious life, Where thou hast been ? The veil! the veil! so thin, so strong! Twixt us and thee ;The mystic veil! when shall it fall, That we may see ? Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone, But present still,And waiting for the coming hour Of Gods sweet will. Lord of the living and the dead, Our Saviour dear !We lay in silence at thy feet This sad, sad year!. BELOW. T OUDLY sweep the winds of autumn Oer that lone, beloved we laid those sunny ringlets,When those blue eyes set like stars,Leaving us to outer the longing and the aching !O the sere deserted ct i 48 Below. Let the grass turn brown upon thee,Brown and withered like our dreams !Let the wind moan through the pine-treesWith a dreary, dirge-like whistle,Sweep the dead leaves on its bosom, —Moaning, sobbing through the branches,Where the summer laughed so gayly. He is gone, our boy of summer, —Gone the light of his blue eyes,Gone the tender heart and manly,Gone the dreams and the aspirings, —Nothing but the mound remaineth,And the aching in our bosoms,Ever aching, ever throbbing :Who shall bring it unto rest ? ABOVE. /^^OMIXG down a golden street I beheld my vanished one,And he moveth on a cloud,And his forehead wears a star ;And his blue eyes, deep and holy,Fixed as in a blessed dream,See some mystery of joy,Some unuttered depth of lov
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