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?