No sound of childish laughter is heard
And here, no sighing or weeping.
No sound is heard but the requiem low
Of the wind in the tree-tops wailing,
And far away on the stormy bay
The white-sailed ships are sailing.
How changed the scene, how lone the place,
From the street, with its bustle and noise;
But they all will soon be called to go
And leave their gilded toys.
O God! I see naught but change and decay,
One hour in the sunlight's glory;
The shadow comes, and they pass away
Leaving nothing to tell their story;
And the withered leaves of the Autumn time
That rustle in every blast
Seem chanting a sad funeral dirge
For the hours that could not last;
But God knoweth best; His children all
Must pass Death's chilly portal,
But bright through the gloom of the silent tomb
Shines the glory of the immortal;
And the vanished hours are like heavenly flowers
To an earthly garden given,
To bud for the Lord of Paradise,
But gathered to bloom in Heaven.
And here, no sighing or weeping.
No sound is heard but the requiem low
Of the wind in the tree-tops wailing,
And far away on the stormy bay
The white-sailed ships are sailing.
How changed the scene, how lone the place,
From the street, with its bustle and noise;
But they all will soon be called to go
And leave their gilded toys.
O God! I see naught but change and decay,
One hour in the sunlight's glory;
The shadow comes, and they pass away
Leaving nothing to tell their story;
And the withered leaves of the Autumn time
That rustle in every blast
Seem chanting a sad funeral dirge
For the hours that could not last;
But God knoweth best; His children all
Must pass Death's chilly portal,
But bright through the gloom of the silent tomb
Shines the glory of the immortal;
And the vanished hours are like heavenly flowers
To an earthly garden given,
To bud for the Lord of Paradise,
But gathered to bloom in Heaven.
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