"Death, thou art infinite!" "All that live must die, Passing through nature to Eternity."
Now we chant a miserere which proclaims the _end of man_-- Telling, in prophetic language, "_Life,"_ at best, "_is but a span!"_ Scarcely treading, slowly enter, reverently bend the knee-- List the Spirit's inward whisper, and from _worldly thoughts_ be free. Here we view a weary pilgrim, cradled in a dreamless sleep; Human sounds no more shall reach her, for its spell is "long and deep!" Gaze upon the marble features! Mark how peacefully they rest! Anguished thought, and sorrow's heavings, all are parted from that breast! Soon on mother earth reposing, this cold form shall calmly lie, Till, by God's dread trump awakened, it shall mount to realms on high.
From mountain top, and from the deep-voiced valley, The snow-white mists are slowly upward wreathing: Now floating wide, now hovering close, to dally With sportive winds, around them lightly breathing, Till, in the quickening Spring-shine through them creeping, Their gloomy power dissolves in warmth and gladness; While swift, new tides through Nature's heart-pulse sweeping. Floods all her veins with a delicious madness. Warmed into life, a world of bright shapes thronging-- Young, tender leaf-buds in fresh greenness swelling, Flower, bird, and insect, with prophetic longing, Pour forth their joy in tremulous hymns upwelling: Thus, Love's Spring sun dispels all chill and sorrow With joyful promise of Love's fullest morrow.
Sweet incense from the heart of myriad flowers, Sweet as the breath that parts the lips of love, Floats softly upward through the sunny hours, Hiving its fragrance in the warmth above: Big with rich store, the teeming earth yields up The increase of her harvest treasury; While golden wine, from Nature's brimming cup, Quickens her pulse to love-toned melody. Full choiréd praise from countless glad throats break, More dazzling bright doth gleam night's dewy eyes; A newer witchery doth the great moon wake; More mellow languisheth the bending skies: Thus, through the heart Life's Summer-sun comes stealing, Spring's wildest promise in Love's fulness sealing.
Athwart the ripe, red sunshine fitfully, Like withering doubts through Love's warm, flushing breast, With wailing voice of saddest augury, Sweeps from the frozen North a phantom guest. With icy finger on each yellow leaf Writes he the history of the dying year. Love's harvest reaped, the grainless stalk and sheaf-- Like plundered hearts, unkerneled of sweet cheer-- Lie black and bare, exposed to rudest tread: While still, with semblance of the Summer brave, Soft, pitying airs float o'er its cold death-bed; Bright flowers and motley leaves flaunt o'er its grave: As in Earth's Autumn--so, through weeping showers, Love sighs a mournful requiem over bygone hours.