Page:Poems Angier.djvu/75

The song-bird tunes its lay
 Beside the cottage door,
Then soaring far away,
 Its form is seen no more;
Safe in a peaceful nest
It finds a welcome rest—
Hope dawned when they appeared,
For thus they sung and cheered;
  They have passed on—
    Our holy dead.

The blue and sparkling wave
 Doth gently kiss the strand,
Then distant shores to lave
 It hasteth from the land;
A blessing to bestow
Thus onward did they go;
Now, like that wavelet bright,
They shine in heaven's own light;
  They have passed on—
    Our holy dead.

The grain to the scythe doth yield,
 Or the sower had lost his toil;
No sigh is heard when it quits the field
 At his will, the lord of the soil.
The reaper's shout was loud,
When they to his sickle bowed;