Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CONSOLATION, by RICHARD SOLOMON GEDNEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CONSOLATION, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Yes, while the mourner stands beside the bier
Last Line: And faith lies slumbering on the breast of love!
Subject(s): Children - Lost; Consolation; Death; Mourning; Sympathy; Dead, The; Bereavement; Empathy


YES, while the mourner stands beside the bier,
O'er a lost child to shed the frequent tear;
To pour the tender and regretful sigh,
And fret the heart pulse—fill the languid eye;
E'en at that hour the thoughtful woe is vain,
Since change, not death, awakes affection's pain.
Nought but a tranquil slumberer resteth there,
Whose spirit's plumes have swept the upper air,
And caught the radiance borne from Heaven along,
Fraught with rich incense and immortal song!
And passed the glittering gates which angels keep,—
Oh! wherefore for the Good should mourners weep?
And why should grief be moved for those who die,
While Life is opening to the youthful eye,—
While fresh young Love springs buoyant in the breast,
And Hope's gay wings are flutt'ring undepress'd;
While like the morning dews that gem the rose,
In the pure soul the dreams of joy repose;
While on the land and wave a light is thrown,
That to the morn of life alone is known:
While every rapture of the heart is new,
And every scene brings pleasure to the view!
Ah!—who should mourn that thus the silver cord
Is loos'd—and to its home the soul restored?
Ah! who should grieve, that there, at such an hour
Celestial light should burst upon the flower?
The lovely flower, that but began to blow
And blossom in this changeful world below,—
Then all unstained was borne to bloom on high,
And drink the lustre of a fadeless sky!
No! let the mother, when her loved one's breath
Faints on her bosom in the trance of death,—
Then let her yearning heart obey the call
Of that high God who loves and cares for all;
Assign the untainted blossom to that shore
Where sicknesses and blights have power no more,—
Where poisonous mildew comes not on the air,
To blight the undying blooms and verdure there;
But where the Gift of Life Eternal's shed,
And funeral wailings rise not o'er the dead;
Where cherub-throngs, in joy triumphant move,
And Faith lies slumbering on the breast of Love!





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