Page:The Atlantic Monthly Volume 1.djvu/464

456 Nor missed they over those who slept
 * The grace to life denied.

Yet still the wilding flowers would blow,
 * The golden leaves would fall,

The seasons come, the seasons go.
 * And God be good to all.

Above the graves the blackberry hung
 * In bloom and green its wreath,

And harebells swung as if they rung
 * The chimes of peace beneath.

The beauty Nature loves to share,
 * The gifts she hath for all,

The common light, the common air,
 * O'ercrept the graveyard's wall.

It knew the glow of eventide,
 * The sunrise and the noon,

And glorified and sanctified
 * It slept beneath the moon.

With flowers or snow-flakes for its sod,
 * Around the seasons ran,

And evermore the love of God
 * Rebuked the fear of man.

We dwell with fears on either hand,
 * Within a daily strife,

And spectral problems waiting stand
 * Before the gates of life.

The doubts we vainly seek to solve,
 * The truths we know, are one;

The known and nameless stars revolve
 * Around the Central Sun.

And if we reap as we have sown,
 * And take the dole we deal,

The law of pain is love alone,
 * The wounding is to heal.

Unharmed from change to change we glide,
 * We fall as in our dreams;

The far-off terror, at our side,
 * A smiling angel seems.

Secure on God's all-tender heart
 * Alike rest great and small;

Why fear to lose our little part,
 * When He is pledged for all?