How Selfish Are Our Tears

           How selfish are our tears!
Mine would not be repressed when first I learned
Thy radiant soul ha to its home returned,
           Earth’s pain, and toil, and fear
Behind thee cast, as from its cumbrous clay
The spirit leaped exultingly away!

           Was it for thee, sweet friend,
Sinless and sainted! that my cheeks were wet,
And my days darkened with a vain regret,
           A sorrow without end?
No—for I knew that thou hadst found thy rest
Where gleam thr “many mansions” of the blest!

           Yet from my spirit passed
Gladness when thou wert gone—and hope was dead—
From the green earth, with thee, had beauty fled—
           The sky was overcast
With clouds whose mutterings were alone of wrath,
And the sick sun shone dimly o’er my path.

           Wo! for the heart which lays
Its all of love upon an earthly shrine!
Its altar shall be shattered, as was mine,
           And the bright hope which plays
Around the ruins fade in cold despair,
Leaving a double desolation there!

           Too well I loved thee!—ay
Call it idolatry—the deep, the intense,
O’ermastering passion!—but thou hast gone hence,
           Up to thy home on high!
Oh, selfish sorrow!—for my tears are shed
Not for thy sake, beloved! Thou art not dead!

           Thou art not dead! The light
Which shone around thee ere thy work was done,
The grave quenched not: in realms beyond the sun
           It beams with lustre bright,
Caught from the “Great White Throne,” whose steps before,
Anthems of praise resound for evermore!

           The bitterness and gloom
Or sorrow unassuaged, the gnawing care,
And the heart’s desolation none can share;
           These enter not the tomb!
The dead sleep sweetly in their narrow bed,—
Why should the tear above their dust be shed?

           Canst thou not hear me?—thou,
Whose ear caught greedily my faintest tone,
And beat thy heart responsive to my own?
           I kneel and lift my brow
To the faint star-light, and with fervent prayer
Whisper thy name to the caressing air!

           In vain—I list in vain
For the low answer which was wont to thrill
My heart life life!—that tone of love is still,
           Never to wake again!
Yet rom thy starry mansion, it may be,
Thine eye still lingers lovingly on me!

           Then will I gird my soul
With calm endurance, and await the time
When I may meet thee in a happier clime,
           Where grief hath no control!
Not vainly are these passionate yearnings given.
So that they lead us to Love’s brighter heaven!