  Illustrated T The dead in their ancient graves are still; There they've slept for many a year; The last faint sunbeams glance o'er the hill, Gilding the dry grass, tall and sere, And the foam of the babbling rill. Into the church the ruddy light falls, Through rich stained windows, narrow and high; Pictures it paints on the old gray walls, Scenes from the days that have long gone by,— And hark! 'tis my Rosalie calls! She calls my name,—I have heard it oft Just at the golden sun's decline; I answer the call, so sweet and soft; And, turning, see where her bright eyes shine, High up in the organ loft. I pass the winding and narrow stair; The gallery door stands open wide; I know no shadow of pain or care, While darling Rosalie stands by my side, In the sunset light so fair. woman seated at organ, man leaning on it, back to viewer What grand old hymns and chants we sang, Grand old chants that I loved so well! And the organ's tones,—how they pealed and rang, Piercing the heart, no tongue can tell With what a delicious pang! Oh, those hours! what holy light Hovers around when their memories rise! Music, love, and the sunset bright, Tenderest glances from Rosalie's eyes, And a long, sweet kiss, for good-night! decoration |
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