  W WE bore to see the summer go; We bore to see the ruthless wind Beat all the golden leaves and red In drifting masses to and fro, Till not a leaf remained behind; We faced the winter’s frown, and said, “There comes reward for all our pain, For every loss there comes a gain; And spring, which never failed us yet, Out of the snow-drift and the ice Shall some day bring the violet.” We bore—what could we do but bear?— To see youth perish in its prime, And hope grow faint, and joyance grieved, And dreams all vanish in thin air, And beauty, at the touch of time, Become a memory, half believed; Still we could smile, and still we said, “Hope, joy, and beauty are not dead; God’s angel guards them all and sees— Close by the grave he sits and waits— There comes a spring for even these.” We bore to see dear faces pale, Dear voices falter, smiles grow wan, And life ebb like a tide at sea, Till underneath the misty veil Our best belovÈd, one by one, Vanished and parted silently. We stayed without, but still could say, “Grief’s winter dureth not alway; Who sleep in Christ with Christ shall rise. We wait our Easter morn in tears, They in the smile of Paradise.” O thought of healing, word of strength! O light to lighten darkest way! O saving help and balm of ill! For all our dead shall dawn at length A slowly broadening Easter Day, The little sleep will not seem long, The silence shall break out in song, The sealÈd eyes shall ope,—and then We who have waited patiently Shall live and have our own again. |
|
