"The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight--
Where are those dreamers now?
"One midst the forests of the West
By a dark stream is laid;
The Indian knows his place of rest
Far in the cedar shade.
"The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one,
He lies where pearls lie deep;
He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.
"One sleeps where southern vines are dress'd,
Above the noble slain;
He wrapped his colors round his breast,
On a blood-red field of Spain.
"And one--o'er her the myrtle showers,
Its leaves by soft winds fanned;
She faded midst Italian flowers--
The last of that fair band.
"And parted thus, they rest, who played
Beneath the same green tree;
Whose voices mingled as they prayed
Around one parent knee!"
It is thus in almost every household. The members may be divided into two
classes,--the present and the absent ones. Who may not say of his family--
"We are not all here!
Some are away--the dead ones dear,
Who thronged with us this ancient hearth,
And gave the hour of guiltless mirth.
Fate, with a stern, relentless hand,
Looked in and thinned our little band.
Some like a night-flash passed away,
And some sank lingering day by day,
The quiet graveyard--some lie there,--
We're not all here!"
The bereavements of home are diversified.
Pages:
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300