The Mourners

Low she lies, who blest our eyes
Through many a sunny day;
She may not smile she will not rise —
The life hath past away!
Yet there is a world of light beyond,
Where we neither die nor sleep —
She is there, of whom our souls were fond —
Then wherefore do we weep ?

The heart is cold, whose thoughts were told
In each glance of her glad bright eye;
And she lies pale, who was so bright,
She scarce seemed made to die.
Yet we know that her soul is happy now,
Where the saints their calm watch keep;
That angels are crowding that fair young brow —
Then wherefore do we weep?

Her laughing voice made all rejoice,
Who caught the happy sound;
There was gladness in her very step,
As it lightly touched the ground.
The echoes of voice and step are gone;
There is silence still and deep:
Yet we know she sings by God’s bright throne
Then wherefore do we weep?

The cheek’s pale tinge, the lid’s dark fringe,
That lies like a shadow there,
Were beautiful in the eyes of all —
And her glossy golden hair!
But though that lid may never wake
From its dark and dreamless sleep,
She is gone were young hearts do not break —
Then wherefore do we weep?

That world of light with joy is bright,
This is a world of woe:
Shall we grieve that her soul hath taken flight
Because we dwell below?
We will bury her under the mossy sod,
And one long bright tress we’ll keep;
We have only given her back to God —
Ah! wherefore do we weep?