How many hopes were borne upon thy bier, O bride of stricken love! in anguish hither! Like flowers, the first and fairest of the year, Plucked on the bosom of the dead to wither; Hopes from their source all holy, though of earth, All brightly gathering round affection's hearth. Of mingled prayer they told: of Sabbath hours; Of morn's farewell, and evening's blessed meeting; Of childhood's voice, amidst the household bowers; And bounding step, and smile of joyous greeting; -- But thou, young mother! to thy gentle heart Didst take thy babe, and meekly so depart. How many hopes have sprung in radiance hence! Their trace yet lights the dust where thou art sleeping! A solemn joy comes o'er me, and a sense Of triumph, blent with nature's gush of weeping, As, kindling up the silent stone, I see The glorious vision, caught by faith, of thee. Slumberer! love calls thee, for the night is past: Put on the immortal beauty of thy waking! Captive! and hear'st thou not the trumpet's blast, The long, victorious note, thy bondage breaking! Thou hear'st, thou answer'st, "God of earth and heaven! Here am I, with the child whom Thou hast given!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER by ROBERT BURNS THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 53. WITHOUT HER by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI SCORN NOT THE LEAST by ROBERT SOUTHWELL THE ALCHEMIST by ST. CLAIR ADAMS MIRACLE by LIBERTY HYDE BAILEY A WAY TO A HAPPY NEW YEAR by ROBERT BREWSTER BEATTIE THE IMPROVISATORE: THE INDUCTION TO THE THIRD FYTTE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |