|"Shattered" by Hilary J. England, 2012|
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor wall;
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more;
Noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.
Is the spirit’s voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died!