Classic Poem

Thou'rt sleeping calmly in thy tomb,
While I from day to day
Still blunder on amid the gloom
Of life's uncertain way.

Thou'rt resting here in perfect peace,
Kind Heaven favoured thee,
In that it willed thee quick release
From all the cares that be.

But thou wert ne'er a child of earth,
Ne'er like the noisy crowd
Who clustered round our father's hearth—
Thy voice was never loud.

And sometimes when the moon at night
Shines through the open door,
And casts a belt of silver light
Across our humble floor—

I fancy then, my sister dear,
That back to earth and me
Thy spirit floats; I feel thee near,
Though thee I cannot see.

I stretch vain arms that would enfold
Thee in a fond embrace,
Forgetting long, long years have rolled
Since I beheld thy face.

'Twas well thou coulds't not long remain
Where care would be thy lot,
Nor would I have thee back again,
God knows, dear, I would not.

In vain in thought I backward stray
And search from year to year,
To record find of e'en a day
Unclouded by a care.

Joy never twined a wreath for me
In May-day's sunniest hours,
But sorrow's tares were safe to be
Inwoven with the flowers.

It hovers o'er me through the night
And robs me of my rest,
Nor flies when morning sunbeams light
The dew on nature's breast.

But storms may beat about thy grave
And rage above thy head;
It frets thee not how winds may rave—
Safe in thy silent bed.

And I could oft without regret
Resign each cherished scheme,
And rest with thee, so care beset
And weary do I seem.

But not while shines an harvest sun
Must slumber come to me,
At eve, with full day's labour done
Sweeter the rest will be.