THE DEPARTED.
269
Would ye not join that throng
Of the earth's departed flowers,
And the masters of the mighty song
In their far and fadeless bowers?
Those songs are high and holy,
But they vanquish not our fear;
Not from our path those flowers are gone—
We fain would linger here!
Linger then yet awhile,
As the last leaves on the bough!—
Ye have lov'd the light of many a smile,
That is taken from you now.
There have been sweet singing voices
In your walks that now are still,
There are seats left void in your earthly homes,
Which none again may fill.
