John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). The Poetical Works in Four Volumes. 1892.
Personal PoemsTo Lydia Maria Child
T
But through it sounds a sadder strain;
The worthiest of our narrowing circle
Sings Loring’s dirges o’er again.
In tender memories of our friend;
With thee across the awful spaces
The greeting of a soul I send!
Where lingers he this weary while?
Over what pleasant fields of Heaven
Dawns the sweet sunrise of his smile?
The earth hard down on Slavery’s grave?
That, in our crowning exultations,
We miss the charm his presence gave?
From him to tell us all is well?
Why to our flower-time comes no token
Of lily and of asphodel?
Thy hunger of the heart is mine;
I reach and grope for hands in darkness,
My ear grows sharp for voice or sign.
The finger of God’s silence lies;
Will the lost hands in ours be folded?
Will the shut eyelids ever rise?
This outreach of our hearts, we need;
God will not mock the hope He giveth,
No love He prompts shall vainly plead.
And call our loved ones o’er and o’er;
Some day their arms shall close about us,
And the old voices speak once more.
Where rapt ghost sits from ghost apart;
Homeward we go to Heaven’s thanksgiving,
The harvest-gathering of the heart.