Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HYMN WRITTEN FOR THE CONSECRATION OF SWAN POINT CEMETERY, by SARAH HELEN POWER WHITMAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HYMN WRITTEN FOR THE CONSECRATION OF SWAN POINT CEMETERY, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: In the faith of him who saw
Last Line: Like angels by the tomb.
Subject(s): Cemeteries; Graveyards


IN the faith of him who saw
The Eternal morning rise,
Through the open gates of pearl,
On the hills of paradise; --

Saw the blessed company
Of saints that, evermore,
Wander by the wells of life,
Or tread the heavenly shore:

Looking to the promised land,
Saw the verdant palms that wave
In the calm and lustrous air,
Through the shadows of the grave; --

In his name, whose deathless love
With a glory all divine
Fill'd the garden-sepulchre,
Far away in Palestine, --

We would consecrate a place
Where our loved ones may repose,
When the storms of life are past
And the weary eyelids close.

Fairer than a festal hall
Bloom the chambers of their rest --
Sacred to the tears that fall
O'er the slumbers of the blest --

Sacred to the hopes that rise
Heavenward from this vale of tears,
Soaring with unwearied wing
Through "the illimitable years."

Each sweet nursling of the spring
Here shall weep its fresh'ning dews,
Here its fragile censer swing,
And all its fragrant soul diffuse.

The lily, in her white symar,
Fondly o'er the turf shall wave,
Asphodels and violets star
All "the green that folds their grave."

Here the pale anemone
In the April breeze shall nod,
And the May-flower weave her blooms
Through and through the velvet sod.

Where the folding branches close
In a verdant coronal,
Through their dim and dreaming boughs
Faintly shall the sun-beams fall.

Memories, mournful yet how sweet!
Here shall weave their mystic spell --
Angels tread with silent feet
Paths where love and sorrow dwell.

No rude sound of earth shall break
The dim quiet evermore,
But the winds and waves shall chant
A requiem on the lonely shore.

Flitting through the slumb'rous calm,
The humming-bird shall wander by,
Winnowing the floral balm,
From cups of wreathed ivory.

The bee shall wind his fairy horn,
Faintly murmuring on the ear,
Sounds that seem of silence born,
Soothe the soul of sadness here; --

Many a low and mystic word,
From the realm of shadows sent,
In the busy throng unheard,
Makes the silence eloquent.

Words of sweetest promise spoken
Only where the dirge is sung,
Where the "golden bowl" is broken,
And the "silver chord" unstrung.

Faith shall, like an evening star,
Faintly tremble through the gloom,
Hope and memory shall sit
Like Angels by the tomb.





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