The turf is as soft and green, Allie, The blue dome above as fair, The air as fragrant with dewy flowers, And our hearts as free from care As when, with our child-eyes veiled, Allie, From sin, and sorrow and woe, We could see the flashing of Angels’ wings And hear their whispers low.
And the violets bloom again, Allie, As they did in the days gone by; And heaven seems just as near as then, Afloat in the sunny sky. A dream? Ah! Yes, ’tis a dream, Allie, Of the olden childhood bliss; But who would not give, of the life we live, Whole years, for one hour like this.
Into the Hall of Death, Death-doomed! With all of life’s bright hopes Entombed; Beautiful, unforgetable face! So pale and calm in its trusting grace, With the shadow stealing on apace, Death-doomed.
Eyes, full of suffering O’ercome, With a steadfast light within Their gloom, Like unto those of a martyred saint, Patient, enduring, without complaint, The pain-flash by a gentle restraint O’ercome.
He of the practised hand Stood by, Knowing the gentle one Must die, Watching the face in its sweet content, Noting the smile of glad assent, As he spake of life as nearly spent, Death-nigh.
Only an unknown name Enrolled On the death-list there--none knew, Or told Her story--but, surely a Presence came Into their midst, as the dear Christ’s name Was murmured by lips, with love aflame, Though cold.
And they who had gathered there That day, Young, and joyous, and brave And gay, To note, with critical gaze, _a case_, Silently passed from the hallowed place, Bearing rememberance of heaven-lit face Away.
And the Angel said “Nay! “But reckon the years of your life once again, “Not a thousand, one day, “But one day, as a thousand years!” Then How clear it all seemed! I _had_ lived, and I knew it not--_Lived!_ And I thought I but dreamed, So brief a time-space I had lived.
And the Angel said “Read!” And the story of life op’ed before me; Wakened Soul! Small the need, Swift mem’ry the page will restore thee; “But read! Now thou darest, “There is nothing that thou would’st amend, “For that hour was life’s rarest, “When a Soul did’st thine own comprehend.”
(_Suggested by a sermon delivered by the late Rev. Doctor W. W. Carson._)
If I have conquered self to-day, If I have trod the narrow way, Nor let my footsteps from it stray, Then shall I have reward. If self has conquered me to-day, Has beckoned to the broader way, And I have chosen thence to stray, Have pity on me, Lord!