It is only a dirge, that ever I sing;
It is only of death, the tale that I bring;
Of death that is life, as it cometh to pass;
Of death that is death, alas! alas!
And these I chant, as I go on my way,
As I go on my way forever and aye.
Call not thyself wretched, though bitter and sweet
In thy cup at this hour intermingle and meet.
Some cloud with the sunshine must ever appear,
And darkness prevails till morning is near.
But who doth remember the gloom and the night,
When the sky is aglow with the beautiful light?
O alas! if thou drinkest the bitter alone,
Nor heaven nor earth may stifle thy moan!
Thy moan!--and the echo died away--
Thy moan! thy moan forever and aye!
His measured voice I heard no more;
But not till I stand on eternity's shore,
And the things of time be forgotten all,
Shall I cease that traveler's words to recall.
As onward he moved to a pendulum-tick,
The gloom and the darkness around him thick,
I fell on my knees and breathed a prayer;
And it rose, I ween, through the midnight air,
To a God who knoweth the wants and all
The evil and good of this earthly thrall;
To One who suffered as on this day,
And began our sins to purge away:
To Him who hath promised to heed our cry,
And a troubled heart to purify.
And I feel that the gall will ever grow less,
Till I see His face in righteousness.
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