Requiem

The strife is o’er—Death’s seal is set
     On ashy lip and marble brow;
‘Tis o’er, though faintly lingers yet
     Upon the cheek a life-like glow:
The feeble pulse hath throbbed its last—
     The aching head is laid at rest—
Another from our ranks hath passed,
     The dearest and the loveliest!

Press down the eyelids—for the light,
     Erewhile so radiant underneath,
Is snatched for ever from our sight,
     And darkened by the spoiler Death:
Press down the eyelids—who can bear
     To look beneath their fringed fold?
And softly part the silken hair
     Upon the brow so deathly cold.

The strife is o’er! The loved of years
     To whom our yearning hearts had grown,
Hath left us, with Life’s fathering fears
     To struggle darkly and alone;
Gone, with the wealth of love which dwelt,
     Heart-kept, with holy thoughts and high—
Gone, as the clouds of evening melt
     Beyond the dark and solemn sky.

Yet mourn her not—the voice of wo
     Befits not this her triumph-hour;
Let Sorrow’s tears no longer flow,
     For life eternal is her dower!
Freed from the Earth’s corrupt control,
     The trials of a world like this,
Joy! for her disembodied soul
     Drinks at the fount of perfect bliss!