184 LAMENTATION. The grass grows green above their graves, The winds will waft their fragrance by, Yes, we heard a mother call, 'Twas in her silent midnight dream, For four whose forms had turned to dust, Beside the onward rushing stream. Some one had died; they wondered why! But some one heard her call the names And soared to rest with them above. Reflection. ́E are traveling, we are traveling, Where there is no end of years. We are looking, we are looking, Thinking of the generations That have mouldered 'neath the sod. We are standing, we are standing, The clay and spirit, they are riven. We are sighing, we are sighing, For the loved ones that have fled; Those who sojourned in this vineyard, But now are numbered with the dead. We are thinking, we are thinking, We are watching, we are watching, We are drawing, we are drawing, The everlasting sunshine falls. Our Thoughts. UR days are short, our years are few, Some are cut down in early morn, Some fall at noon when life is sweet; Obey the law that is divine, Then you shall gain a home up there." 188 OUR THOUGHTS. Through sun and storm some day till eve They see the changes mortals brave;— The infant in its cradle rests: Toil comes at noon; at night, the grave. But so it is, thus some one said, Lo! Jacob cried in days of old, "My years are few, and evil, too, But now I'm called into the fold." |