_Obiit, June, 1882_.
--"And then, a flood of light, a seraph's hymn,
And God's own smile, forever, and forever."
Oh! pale, calm face; eyes by the Death-kiss sealed,
Cold hands, upon the silent bosom folden;
Oh! soul, set free--of all sin's sickness healed,
Basking in light, from mortal eyes withholden,
_In cœlo quies_.
Still heart, that ached and throbb'd with human passion,
Locks, white with snow of many a winter past,
Tired body, weary after earth's poor fashion,
Sleep calmly till the waking trumpet blast--
_In cœlo quies_.
All over now--the heart-ache and the burning
Of thoughts, so trammelled by this "mortal coil;"
The soul has cast behind its moans and yearning,
The hands are resting from the long life's toil,--
_In cœlo quies_.
I, mournful gazer, watching by the portal
Whence thou, from death to life, hast entered in,
Would fain catch one stray gleam of light immortal,
To tell me, ever drowning earth's wild din,
_In cœlo quies_.
I might not hear the angel welcome ringing,
Nor see the pearly portals open wide,
Wherein the ransomed band, the new song singing,
In white robes wander by life's river side,
_In cœlo quies_.
"_In cœlo quies_," while the storms are beating
Along earth's desert moorlands, wild and wide;
While skies shall lower, and angry waves are meeting
Thy bark is moored--thou art beyond the tide,
_In cœlo quies_.
"_In cœlo quies_"--Rest, pure, deep, eternal,
Peace, in a perfect, blissful, endless calm;
Charmed by the beatific joys supernal,
Lull'd by the melody of seraph's psalm,
_In cœlo quies_.
Here, we but dream it all--the rest--the glory,
Here we but yearn for it in sob and pain;
Till knees wax weary and till locks grow hoary,
Still "westward journeying," at length to gain,
_In cœlo quies_.
But _thou_ mayest sleep; thy toilsome warfare ended,
The long, rough life-path has been nobly trod,
And with our lost ones, thou sweet songs hast blended,
To hail them found, beside the throne of God?
_In cœlo quies_.