And sometimes we may think
This cannot -- will not -- be:
Some waves must rise -- some sink,
Out on the midnight sea.
And we are weak as waves
That sink upon the shore;
We go down into graves --
Fate chants the nevermore;
Cometh a voice! Kneel down!
'Tis God's -- there is no fate --
He giveth the Cross and Crown,
He opens the jeweled gate.
He watcheth with such eyes
As only mothers own --
"Sweet Father in the skies!
Ye call us to a throne."
There is no fate -- God's love
Is law beneath each law,
And law all laws above
Fore'er, without a flaw.
Sorrow and the Flowers
A Memorial Wreath to C. F.
Sorrow:
A garland for a grave! Fair flowers that bloom,
And only bloom to fade as fast away,
We twine your leaflets 'round our Claudia's tomb,
And with your dying beauty crown her clay.
Ye are the tender types of life's decay;
Your beauty, and your love-enfragranced breath,
From out the hand of June, or heart of May,
Fair flowers! tell less of life and more of death.
My name is Sorrow. I have knelt at graves,
All o'er the weary world for weary years;
I kneel there still, and still my anguish laves
The sleeping dust with moaning streams of tears.
And yet, the while I garland graves as now,
I bring fair wreaths to deck the place of woe;
Whilst joy is crowning many a living brow,
I crown the poor, frail dust that sleeps below.
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