THEY never quite leave us, our friends who have passed Through the shadows of death to the sunlight above; A thousand sweet memories are holding them fast To the places they blest with their presence and love. The work which they left and the books which they read Speak mutely, though still with an eloquence rare; And the songs that they sung, the dear words that they said, Yet linger and sigh on the desolate air. And oft when alone, and as oft in the throng, Or when evil allures us or sin draweth nigh, A whisper comes gently, "Nay, do not the wrong," And we feel that our weakness is pitied on high. We toil at our tasks in the burden and heat Of life's passionate noon; they are folded in peace. It is well; we rejoice that their heaven is sweet, And one day for us all the bitter will cease. We, too, shall go home o'er the river of rest, As the strong and the lovely before us have gone; Our sun will go down in the beautiful west, To rise in the glory that circles the throne. Until then we are bound by our love and our faith To the saints who are walking in Paradise fair; They have passed beyond sight at the touching of death, But they live, like ourselves, in God's infinite care. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HUMAN LIFE: ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW by ROBERT HERRICK THE LIGHT OF STARS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE FAMINE YEAR by JANE FRANCESCA WILDE THE PIAZZA OF ST. MARK AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: ISBRAND by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES ON FRIENDS AND FOES by WILLIAM BLAKE |