Poems (Angier)/The Dead

by Annie Lanman Angier

For works with similar titles, see The Dead.

THE DEAD.

"Weep not for the holy dead, calmly they rest,
Their bark safely moored by the Isles of the Blest;
But weep for the living, on Time's troubled sea,
Their hope-freighted bark may a shattered wreck be.

Yes, weep for the living, weep not for the dead,
For the captive soul freed, from its prison-house fled;
Should we grieve for the song-bird from falling nest flown,
That softly sings, soaring, I fly to my own!

The peasant, now prince, the hut changed for hall,
A robe, crown, and palace for shroud, coffin, pall;
O! vision most holy, who questions their gain
Who have passed to the land where is never more pain?

Long, weary the march, yet their faltering feet
Ne'er halted to rest, mid the dust and the heat;
Though rugged the pathway, and thorny the road,
In faith they pressed on, bravely bearing their load.

Now triumph is theirs, for life's battle is o'er
The din of the conflict shall deafen no more;
The struggle was fierce, the fight hard and long,
But it ended at last in the conqueror's song.

Yes, weep for the living, on Time's troubled sea,
Their hope-freighted bark may a shattered wreck be;
But mourn not the holy dead, calmly they rest,
Their bark safely moored by the Isles of the Blest.