We are Scattered

We are scattered — we are scattered,
     Though a jolly band were we!
Some sleep beneath the grave-sod,
     And some are o’er the sea;
And Time hath wrought his changes
     On the few who yet remain;
The joyous band that once we were
     We cannot be again!

We are scattered — we are scattered!
     Upon the village green,
Where we played in boyish recklessness,
     How few of us are seen!
And the hearts that beat so lightly
     In the joyousness of youth—
Some are crumbled in the sepulchre,
     And some have lost their truth.

The Beautiful — the Beautiful
     Are faded from our track!
We miss them and we mourn them
     But we cannot lure them back;
For an iron sleep hath bound them
     In its passionless embrace;
We may weep, but cannot win them
     From their dreary resting-place.

The memory — the memory —
     How fondly doth it gaze
Upon the magic liveliness
     Of childhood’s fleeting days!
The sparkling eye—the thrilling tone—
     The smile upon its lips—
They all have gone!—but let a light
     Which time cannot eclipse.

The happiness — the happiness
     Of boyhood must depart;
Then comes the sense of loneliness
     Upon the stricken heart!
We will not, or we cannot fling
     Its sadness from our breast—
We cling to it instinctively—
     We pant for its unrest!

We are scattered, — we are scattered!
     Yet may we meet again,
In a brighter and a purer sphere
     Beyond the reach of pain!
Where the shadows of this lower world
     Can never cloud the eye—
When the mortal hath put brightly on
     Its IMMORTALITY!