The Memory of the Dead

Oh, it is sweet to think
Of those that are departed,
While murmured Aves sink
To silence tender-hearted,
While tears that have no pain
Are tranquilly distilling,
And the dead live again
In hearts that love is filling.

Yet not as in the days
Of earthly ties we love them;
For they are touched with rays
From light that is above them:
Another sweetness shines
Around their well-known features;
God with His glory signs
His dearly ransomed creatures.

Yes, they are more our own,
Since now they are God's only;
And each one that has gone
Has left our heart less lonely.
He mourns not seasons fled,
Who now in Him possesses
Treasures of many dead
In their dear Lord's caresses.

Dear dead! they have become
Like guardian angels to us;
And distant Heaven like home,
Through them begins to woo us;
Love, that was earthly, wings
Its flight to holier places;
The dead are sacred things
That multiply our graces.

They whom we loved on earth
Attract us now to Heaven;
Who shared our grief and mirth
Back to us now are given.
They move with noiseless foot
Gravely and sweetly round us,
And their soft touch hath cut
Full many a chain that bound us.

O dearest dead! to Heaven
With grudging sighs we gave you,
To Him be doubts forgiven!
Who took you there to save you: -
Now get us grace to love
Your memories yet more kindly,
Pine for our homes above,
And trust to God more blindly.