The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

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[32] Oh, while Life's solemn mystery glooms
     Around us like a dungeon's wall,
Silent earth's pale and crowded tombs,
     Silent the heaven which bends o'er all!

While day by day our loved ones glide
     In spectral silence, hushed and lone,
To the cold shadows which divide
     The living from the dread Unknown;

While even on the closing eye,
     And on the lip which moves in vain,
The seals of that stern mystery
     Their undiscovered trust retain;

And only midst the gloom of death,
     Its mournful doubts and haunting fears,
Two pale, sweet angels, Hope and Faith,
     Smile dimly on us through their tears;

Tis something to a heart like mine
     To think of thee as living yet;
To feel that such a light as thine
     Could not in utter darkness set.

Less dreary seems the untried way
     Since thou hast left thy footprints there,
And beams of mournful beauty play
     Round the sad Angel's sable hair.

Oh! at this hour when half the sky
     Is glorious with its evening light,
And fair broad fields of summer lie
     Hung o'er with greenness in my sight;