The busy day has hurried by,
And hearts greet kindred hearts once more;
And swift the evening hours should fly,
But, what turns every gleaming eye
So often to the door?
And then so quick away?—And why
Does sudden silence chill the room?
And laughter sink into a sigh,
And merry words to whispers die,
And gladness change to gloom?
Oh, we are listening for a sound,
We know, shall ne'er be heard again;
Sweet voices in the halls resound,
Fair forms, fond faces gather round,
But all in vain, in vain.
Their feet shall never waken more
The echoes in those galleries wide,
Nor dare the snow on mountain's brow,
Nor skim the river's frozen flow,
Nor wander down its side.
They who have been our life, our soul,
Through summer youth from childhood's spring,
Who bound us in one vigorous whole
To stand 'gainst Tyranny's control
For ever triumphing: