Abram Joseph Ryan

Reverie (Only a few more years!)

    Only a few more years!
     Weary years!
    Only a few more tears!
     Bitter tears!
And then -- and then -- like other men,
 I cease to wander, cease to weep,
 Dim shadows o'er my way shall creep;
And out of the day and into the night,
Into the dark and out of the bright
 I go, and Death shall veil my face,
 The feet of the years shall fast efface
 My very name, and every trace
I leave on earth; for the stern years tread --
Tread out the names of the gone and dead!
And then, ah! then, like other men,
 I close my eyes and go to sleep,
 Only a few, one hour, shall weep:
 Ah! me, the grave is dark and deep!

    Alas!  Alas!
     How soon we pass!
    And ah! we go
     So far away;
When go we must,
From the light of Life, and the heat of strife,
To the peace of Death, and the cold, still dust,
 We go -- we go -- we may not stay,
 We travel the lone, dark, dreary way;
Out of the day and into the night,
Into the darkness, out of the bright.
And then, ah! then, like other men,
 We close our eyes and go to sleep;
We hush our hearts and go to sleep;
Only a few, one hour, shall weep:
Ah! me, the grave is lone and deep!

I saw a flower, at morn, so fair;
I passed at eve, it was not there.
 I saw a sunbeam, golden bright,
 I saw a cloud the sunbeam's shroud,
 And I saw night
 Digging the grave of day;
And day took off her golden crown,
And flung it sorrowfully down.
 Ah! day, the Sun's fair bride!
 At twilight moaned and died.
And so, alas! like day we pass:
   At morn we smile,
   At eve we weep,
   At morn we wake,
 In night we sleep.
We close our eyes and go to sleep:
Ah! me, the grave is still and deep!

    But God is sweet.
     My mother told me so,
    When I knelt at her feet
     Long -- so long -- ago;
She clasped my hands in hers.
Ah! me, that memory stirs
 My soul's profoundest deep --
 No wonder that I weep.
She clasped my hands and smiled,
Ah! then I was a child --
   I knew not harm --
   My mother's arm
Was flung around me; and I felt
That when I knelt
 To listen to my mother's prayer,
 God was with my mother there.

Yea! "God is sweet!"
   She told me so;
 She never told me wrong;
And through my years of woe
Her whispers soft, and sad, and low,
 And sweet as Angel's song,
Have floated like a dream.

And, ah! to-night I seem
 A very child in my old, old place,
 Beneath my mother's blessed face,
And through each sweet remembered word,
This sweetest undertone is heard:
 "My child! my child! our God is sweet,
 In Life -- in Death -- kneel at his feet --
Sweet in gladness, sweet in gloom,
Sweeter still beside the tomb."
 Why should I wail?  Why ought I weep?
 The grave -- it is not dark and deep;
Why should I sigh?  Why ought I moan?
The grave -- it is not still and lone;
 Our God is sweet, our grave is sweet,
 We lie there sleeping at His feet,
Where the wicked shall from troubling cease,
And weary hearts shall rest in peace!