Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Memory of the Dead
THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD.
Forget them not! though now their name
Be but a mournful sound,
Though by the hearth its utterance claim
A stillness round:
Though for their sake this earth no more
As it hath been, may be,
And shadows, never marked before,
Brood o'er each tree:
And though their image dim the sky,
Yet, yet, forget them not!
Nor, where their love and life went by,
Forsake the spot!
They have a breathing influence there,
A charm not elsewhere found;
Sad—yet it sanctifies the air,
The stream, the ground.
Then, though the wind an alter'd tone
Through the young foliage bear,
Though every flower, of something gone,
A tinge may wear:
Oh, fly it not!—no fruitless grief
Thus in their presence felt,
A record links to every leaf,
There, where they dwelt.
Still trace the path which knew their tread,
Still tend their garden bower,
Still commune with the holy dead,
In each lone hour.
The holy dead!—oh! blest we are,
That we may call them so,
And to their image look afar,
Through all our woe!
Blest, that the things they lov'd on earth
As relics we may hold,
That wake sweet thoughts of parted worth
By springs untold!
Blest, that a deep and chastening power
Thus o'er our souls is given,
If but to bird, or song, or flower,
Yet, all for Heaven.