'The voice of One hath spoken,
And the bended reed is bruised--
The golden bowl is broken,
And the silver cord is loosed.'
Over the eyes of gladness
The lids of sorrow fall,
And the light of mirth is darkened
Under the funeral pall.
The hearts that throbbed with rapture
In dreams of the future years,
Are wakened from their slumbers,
And their visions drowned in tears.
. . . . . . .
Two buds on the bough in the morning--
Twin buds in the smiling sun,
But the frost of death has fallen
And blighted the bloom of one.
One leaf of life still folded
Has fallen from the stem,
Leaving the symbol teaching
There still are two of them,--
For though--through Time's gradations,
The LIVING bud may burst,--
The WITHERED one is gathered,
And blooms in Heaven first.