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Each the father's breast embraces,
Son and daughter; and their faces

Colorless grow utterly.
Whichever way
Looks the fear-struck father gray,

He beholds his children die.

6 Woe! the blessed children both Takest thou in the joy of youth;

Take me, too, the joyless father!” Spake the grim Guest, From his hollow, cavernous breast ;

“Roses in the spring I gather !”



INTO the Silent Land !

Ah! who shall lead us thither ?
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,

And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.

Who leads us with a gentle hand
Thither, O thither,
Into the Silent Land ?

Into the Silent Land !

To you, ye boundless regions
Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions

Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band!
Who in Life's battle firm doth stand,
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms
Into the Silent Land !

O Land ! · 0 Land !

For all the broken-hearted

The mildest herald by our fate allotted,
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand
To lead us with a gentle hand
Into the land of the great Departed,
Into the Silent Land !


YE voices, that arose
After the Evening's close,
And whispered to my restless heart repose !

Go, breathe it in the ear
Of all who doubt and fear,
And say to them, “Be of good cheer!"

Ye sounds, so low and calm,
That in the groves of balm
Seemed to me like an angel's psalm !

Go, mingle yet once more
With the perpetual roar
Of the pine forest, dark and hoar !

Tongues of the dead, not lost,
But speaking from death's frost,
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost!

Glimmer, as funeral lamps,
Amid the chills and damps
Of the vast plain where Death encamps !


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