The Mourners

OW she lies, who blest our eyes
Through many a sunny day;

She may not smile, she will not rise--
The life hath past away!

Yet there is a world of light beyond,
Where we neither die nor sleep-- She is there, of whom our souls were fond--
Then wherefore do we weep?

The heart is cold, whose thoughts were told
In each glance of her glad bright eye;

And she lies pale, who was so bright,
She scarce seemed made to die.

Yet we know that her soul is happy now,
Where the saints their calm watch keep;

That angels are crowning that fair young brow--
Then wherefore do we weep?

Her laughing voice made all rejoice,
Who caught the happy sound;

There was gladness in her very step,
As it lightly touched the ground.

The echoes of voice and step are gone;
There is silence still and deep:

Yet we know she sings by God's bright throne--
Then wherefore do we weep?

The cheek's pale tinge, the lid's dark fringe;
That lies like a shadow there,

Were beautiful in the eyes of all--
And her glossy golden hair!

But though that lid may never wake
From its dark and dreamless sleep,

She is gone where young hearts do not break--
Then wherefore do we weep?

That world of light with joy is bright,
This is a world of woe:

Shall we grieve that her soul hath taken flight,
Because we dwell below?

We will bury her under the mossy sod,
And one long bright tress we'll keep;

We have only given her back to God--
Ah! wherefore do we weep?