Sweet sisters! ye have passed away,

In solemn silence one by one,

And left a brother here to stray,

In doubt and darkness—and alone!

For like three lamps of holy flame,

Ye shone upon my weary way,

Till a chill breath from heaven came,

And quenched for aye the kindly ray.

Where are ye now?—where are ye now?

Those loving hearts and spirits, where!

O’er three new graves in grief I bow,

But ye are gone—ye are not there!

The winds that sigh while wandering by,

Curl the bright snow in many a wreath,

And sing in mournful melody,

O’er the cold dust that sleeps beneath.

The birds that sang when ye were here,

Are singing in another clime;

Have left the hedge and forest sere,

And gone where all is summer-time.

The frail bright flowers that bloom’d around,

When ye were blooming bright as they,

Lie crushed and withered on the ground,

Their fragrance heavenward passed away.

And ye are gone where genial skies

And radiant suns eternal shine,

Where peaceful songs forever rise,

From saintly tongues and lips divine.

And like the flowers whose sweet perfume

Has left the soil and risen above,

Has risen from your silent tomb

The holy fragrance of your love.

But often when the silver beams

Of the pale stars are on my bed,

Ye come among my sweetest dreams,

And bend in silence o’er my head;

And throngs of bright imaginings

Float round and o’er me till the dawn;

I hear the fluttering of wings!

I start—I wake! but ye are gone.

Oh! I am sad; yet still the thought

That when this tired though willing hand

Its earthly destiny hath wrought,

Ye wait me in that distant land,

And that ye long to have me there,

More that I pine your absence here,

Shall heal the touch of every care

And quench the sting of every fear.

No marble stands with towering shaft

To catch the stranger’s curious eye;

No tablet graved with flattering craft,

Tells where your silent ashes lie;

But there is one secluded spot

In the deep shadows of my soul,

Where stranger foot intrudeth not,

Nor winter’s wanton tempests roll.

And there in Friendship’s burial-ground

The willow of remembrance bends,

And ye my sisters there have found

A home among my choicest friends;

And modelled with etherial grace,

The form of Hope with heavenward eyes,

Stands calmly on your burial-place,

And points her finger to the skies.