AT length the gusts of anguish cease; The calm of coming death Smiles from the eyes in settled peace, Restores the rhythmic breath. Such brightness now is round her cast, Such joy for angels fit, As if the gate of Heaven were past Without her knowing it. Like golden sands the moments go; Each, sparkling light with love, Heaps up the nearing death below, Steals from the life above. O love that cannot be repair'd Whate'er the future bring! Irrevocable instants, spared To plant the deeper sting! O dread alternative of woe At sight of one so dear! We cannot bear that she should go, Yet may not wish her here! Ah yet the golden moments spare That slip and sparkle thus! The heavenly voices call her there; But she is more to us. |