Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/441

 1840-50.] JONATHAN W. GORDON. 425 Still lifts it from a world of night, Forever nearer to its God. And thus the soul with God above, And fired with hopes that constant tend To higher heights, as sparks ascend, Sublimely seeks the heights of love. Here is the all in all — the sum Of finite life, thought, hope and joy; All else we know is but alloy, And bears no hope for years to come. This soul of soul — essential bliss! — Howe'er earth's dross may round it cling, Will be to each an angel's wing To waft him o'er death's grim abyss. Then, hail bright morn! my song shall know No accidental jar; but fixed In this high creed, shall flow unmixed "With discords — born of human woe. n. Another year whose dawn I sung A year ago to-day, is dead; "At night's pale noon" his spirit fled — By mournful winds his knell was rung. Come with me to the grave — look down Upon the coffin — it contains A fraction of our own remains — A part of life we called our own. It was our own a year ago. But now 'tis in the grave — 'tis dead; A part of us — of heart and head — A year of earthly bliss and woe. And who can tell how large a part Within that year himself hath died? 'Tis quite enough — bear witness pride — A single throb may still the heart. The grief is egotistical that gives Its tears to the departed year: 'Tis for our buried selves the tear Is shed — the selfish sorrow lives. The coffin-lid on which we gaze, Is all too thin to hide ourself beneath: And throb by throb, and breath by breath. We die each moment of our days. 'Tis well in our own fun'ral train To walk; nor dream the gi-ave so near — Nor deem each spark of pleasure here, A severed fragment of hfe's chain. But is it not? The wasting pile On which the laughing flame doth feed, And mock at gloom the while, doth speed To dust beneath the fiery smile. So speeds to dust the templed dome From which the soul's immortal flame Smiles down on death; thence, as it came, Leaps up to its immortal home. Let thanks to time and death be given, For those whose going left us sorrow; We'll join them on life's bright to-mor- row, Within the sapphire walls of heaven. III. We drift upon a shoreless sea, On which to-day is but a wave: Behind us darkly yawns the grave — Before, shines immortality. We do not die, as death doth seem, In those we love; but upward rise To scenes unseen by earthward eyes; And brighter than the poet's dream. Why reck we then how years depart, Since past and future both are ours; And hope and mem'ry twine their flow'rs In garlands grateful to the heai't?