Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Departed Friend
THE DEPARTED FRIEND.
O friend! the light is dead
In thy fair mansion, where in bright array
Love moved with buoyant tread,
And childhood's merry laughter, day by day,
Made the heart glad, and music lent its zest,
And hospitable smiles allured the welcome guest.
And in the holy place
A brow of beautiful and earnest thought,
A form of manly grace,
Are missing; and we gaze with sorrow fraught
Upon that vacant seat where beam'd for years
That spirit-speaking eye, the pastor's toil that cheers.
And from the couch of pain,
The cell of want, a voice hath pass'd away
Which sooth'd the suffering train,
And warn'd the smitten sinful man to pray;
Which, till the verge of life, with accents clear,
Told how a Christian's faith the hour of death can cheer.
O Friend! how great thy gain,
Thus borne in manhood's vigour to the skies,
Ere age or wasting pain
Had chill'd the full fount of thy sympathies,
Those sympathies that still with ardent glow
Joy'd at another's joy, or mourn'd for other's wo.
Hast thou embraced them there,
Thy kindred, tenants of yon world of bliss?
Oh say, do angels share
The sympathies so sweetly sown in this?
The nurtured 'neath one roof, one native sky,
Meet they with changeless love where every tear is dry?
Ah! hast thou seen his face
Whom thy young hand with tender zeal did lead
To seek a Saviour's grace?
That brother, who, God's flock ordain'd to feed,
Touch'd with pure lip the altar's living fire,
And earlier found his place with Heaven's immortal choir.
Say, at the pearly gate
Hail'd she thy coming with a fond acclaim;
She who, with hope elate,
Taught thy young lisping tongue the Almighty's name?
And he, whose life closed like a hymn of praise,
Thy patriarchal sire, serene and full of days?
Be silent; ask no more;
Bow in deep reverence to the sacred dead;
No mortal thought may soar
To their high ecstasy, unnamed and dread;
Wait till the temple's veil is rent for thee,
And let God's will be thine, heir of eternity.