Death

Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly,

Full of sap, and full of silver dew;

Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;

Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.

Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;

Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride;

But, within its parent's kindly bosom,

Flowed for ever Life's restoring-tide.

Little mourned I for the parted gladness,

For the vacant nest and silent song -

Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;

Whispering, " Winter will not linger long!"

And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing,

Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;

Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing,

Lavished glory on that second May!

High it rose - no winged grief could sweep it;

Sin was scared to distance with its shine;

Love, and its own life, had power to keep it

From all wrong - from every blight but thine!

Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish;

Evening's gentle air may still restore -

No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish -

Time, for me, must never blossom more!

Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish

Where that perished sapling used to be;

Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish

That from which it sprung - Eternity.