AT THE TOMB OF SENANCOUR by FREDERIC ROWLAND MARVIN

IN Sevres before a tomb I stood and read,
'Neath waving willow and an ilex there,
The name of one whose aching heart breathed out
With dying breath this last and bitter prayer:
"Be thou Eternity, my refuge!" None
Was there for thee but silence and the night:
And as I mused, a bird flew swiftly by,
God's sunlight flashing from its pinions bright.

Of Oberman's enchanted page I thought,
The story of thy lonely pilgrim days;
I pondered if Eternity at last
Were welcome goal of thy sad wand'ring ways.
And as I mused, far up a leafy bough
The bird sang sweetly of great love and hope;
The air was fragrant with the breath of flowers,—
The wild red rose and purple heliotrope.

O Senancour, there is a refuge here
For earthly sorrow and our wild unrest!
The hill, the forest, and the running brook
Invite repose on Nature's soothing breast;
And when our little selves we do forget,
In the bright world of beauty God hath made,
Scant power hath human ill the heart to vex,
Nor is there boding woe to make afraid.

Far from the crowded city's wildering maze,
God meets us in the flight of singing birds;
His voice is in the winds and sounding sea,
And in the lowing of the peaceful herds.
The simple joys of rural life have grace
To still the tumult of our care and doubt;
From artificial thoughts our life allure,
And these poor pleasures we might do without.

This lesson from thy lonely tomb I learn,
Thou gifted son of genius and despair:
'T is only when our sense of self we lose,
As well we lose our burden and our care.
All Nature thrills with music and with song,
When we have ears to catch the heavenly strain;
And when with love our hearts are warm and true,
We know He made us not to live in vain.

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