Requiem

The strife is o'er — Death's seal is set
On ashy lip and marble brow;
'Tis o'er, though faintly lingers yet
Upon the cheek a life-like glow:
The feeble pulse hath throbb'd its last,
The aching head is laid at rest —
Another from our ranks hath pass'd,
The dearest and the loveliest!
Press down the eyelids — for the light,
Erewhile so radiant underneath,
Is gone forever from our sight,
And darken'd by the spoiler, Death:
Press down the eyelids — who can bear
To look beneath their fringed fold?
And softly part the silken hair
Upon the brow so deathly cold.
The strife is o'er! The loved of years,
To whom our yearning hearts had grown,
Hath left us, with life's gathering fears
To struggle darkly and alone;
Gone, with the wealth of love which dwelt,
Heart-kept, with holy thoughts and high —
Gone, as the clouds of evening melt
Beyond the dark and solemn sky.
Yet mourn her not — the voice of wo
Befits not this, her triumph-hour;
Let Sorrow's tears no longer flow,
For life eternal is her dower!
Freed from the earth's corrupt control,
The trials of a world like this,
Joy! for her disembodied soul
Drinks at the fount of perfect bliss!