Page:Keepsake 1831.pdf/3

Oh father, my father, now urge me no more;
No footstep of mine will be light on the floor;
The shroud cold and white is the robe I shall wear:
Now look on my face, is not death written there?

It came on the night wind, it came in the hour,
When the planet shines forth and the spirit has power:
I heard the sad music that wailing past by,
It call'd me, my father, it call'd me to die.

I heard that wild singing the night that she died,
My own gentle sister, her last sigh replied:
Again I have listen'd that funeral tone;
I knew 't was the death song, I knew 't was my own.

I am weeping, but not for this summons, my tears
They fall for your lonely, your desolate years:
I see the old hearth, but its gladness is gone;
I see the green forest, you walk there alone.

By the side of my sister's they'll hang up my lute,
But, unless the wind wake them, henceforth to be mute.
Our vault will be open'd with torch-light and song;
We must part there, my father, we part not for long.

They say to the words of the dying are given
A spirit that is not of earth, but of heaven.
Be strong in thy sorrow, and meek in thy pain:
My father, we meet, and for ever, again.