A WALK IN A CHURCHYARD.

267

A WALK IN A CHURCHYARD.

R. C. TRENCH.

WE walked within the churchyard bounds,

My little boy and I,—

He laughing, running happy rounds,
I pacing mournfully.

"Nay, child! it is not well," I said,
"Among the graves to shout,
To laugh and play among the dead,
And make this noisy rout."

A moment to my side he clung,
Leaving his merry play,

A moment stilled his joyous tongue,
Almost as hushed as they:

Then, quite forgetting the command,
In life's exulting burst

Of early glee, let go my hand,
Joyous as at the first.

And now I did not check him more,
For, taught by Nature's face,

I had grown wiser than before,
Even in that moment's space.

She spread no funeral pall above
That patch of churchyard ground,
But the same azure vault of love
As hung o'er all around.

And white clouds o'er that spot would pass,

As freely as elsewhere;

The sunshine on no other grass

A richer hue might wear.

And formed from out that very mould
In which the dead did lie,
The daisy with its eye of gold
Looked up into the sky.

The rook was wheeling overhead,

Nor hastened to be gone,

The small bird did its glad notes shed,
Perched on a gray headstone.

And God, I said, would never give
This light upon the earth,

Nor bid in childhood's heart to live
These springs of gushing mirth,

If our one wisdom were to mourn
And linger with the dead,-
To nurse, as wisest, thoughts forlorn
Of worm and earthy bed.

THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS.

O no! the glory earth puts on,

The child's unchecked delight, Both witness to a triumph won, (If we but read aright,) —

A triumph won o'er sin and death,

From these the Saviour saves; And, like a happy infant, Faith Can play among the graves.

THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS.

C. MACKAY.

269

A LITTLE child beneath a tree
Sat and chanted cheerily

A little song, a pleasant song,

Which was, she sang it all day long,

"When the wind blows, the blossoms fall; But a good God reigns over all!"

There passed a lady by the way,
Moaning in the face of day:
There were tears upon her cheek,
Grief in her heart too great to speak;
Her husband died but yester-morn,
And left her in the world forlorn.

She stopped and listened to the child,
That looked to heaven, and, singing, smiled;
And saw not for her own despair

Another lady, young and fair,

Who, also passing, stopped to hear
The infant's anthem ringing clear.

For she but few sad days before
Had lost the little babe she bore;
And grief was heavy at her soul

As that sweet memory o'er her stole,
And showed how bright had been the past,
The present drear and overcast.

And as they stood beneath the tree
Listening, soothed and placidly,

A youth came by, whose sunken eyes
Spake of a load of miseries;
And he, arrested like the twain,
Stopped to listen to the strain.

Death had bowed the youthful head
Of his bride beloved, his bride unwed:
Her marriage robes were fitted on,
Her fair young face with blushes shone,
When the destroyer smote her low,
And changed the lover's bliss to woe.

And these three listened to the song,
Silver-toned, and sweet, and strong,

THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS.

Which that child, the livelong day,
Chanted to itself in play :

271

"When the wind blows, the blossoms fall; But a good God reigns over all !"

The widow's lips impulsive moved;
The mother's grief, though unreproved,
Softened, as her trembling tongue
Repeated what the infant sung;
And the sad lover, with a start,
Conned it over to his heart.

And though the child — if child it were,
And not a seraph sitting there—

Was seen no more, the sorrowing three
Went on their way resignedly,

The song still ringing in their ears : —
Was it music of the spheres ?

Who shall tell? They did not know,
But in the midst of deepest woe,
The strain recurred when sorrow grew,
To warn them, and console them too:
"When the wind blows, the blossoms fall;
But a good God reigns over all!"