Classic Poem

L ISTEN , Mother, dost thou hear a sound?
Her voice, her step, fond mourner! canst thou hear?
With swimming eyes how oft thou look'st around,
As if thy loved one still were near!
And, at deep midnight, why
Along the floor,
Why by her chamber-door,
With gentle foot-fall glide adown the stair?
While yet, with tremulous voice, I hear thee sigh,
" She is not there! "

Seek her, Father, by the winding stream,
The path that skirts the hill-top's shady brow;
There, by the struggling sunshine's fitful gleam
Up-flashing from the wave below, —
There, where she loved to roam, —
Hast thou not seen,
Far in the forest green,
Her light robe fluttering in the breezy air?
Alone , thou turnest to thy silent home:
She is not there!
Sabbath stillness o'er the earth doth brood,
While, bowed with years and sorrow, ye are seen
Slow wending onward by the old oak wood,
And upward to the graveyard green.
There, with the dead, alone,
Ye moveless stand;
Yet why, with trembling hand,
Cling to each other by that hillock bare?
Why rain your tear-drops on the marble stone?
She is not there!

Mourn no longer! Rather bless the grave,
Our portal to the palaces of bliss!
Our Father , Lord of Hosts, mighty to save,
Hath taken home, from woe like this,
The treasure H E had given.
H IS lips have said:
" Where'er the treasure's laid
Thither the heart its deepest love will bear. "
She was your treasure; raise your love to Heaven,
For she is there!