Plead for us, then, and let your potent prayer
Unlock the golden gates, that we who beat
Our eager wings against these prison bars,
May wing our flight to endless liberty!"
THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD.
FATHER FABER
[This poem scarcely comes within the scope of the present work, yet it
is, by its nature, so closely connected therewith, and is, moreover, so
exquisitely tender and pathetic, so beautiful in its mournful
simplicity, that I decided on giving it a place amongst these funereal
fragments.]
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 one heart less lonely.
He mourns not seasons fled,
Who now in Him possesses
Treasures of many dead
In their dear Lord's caresses.
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