Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Departed Years

Departed Years.

    Knell of departed years,     Thy voice is sweet to me,    It wakes no sad, foreboding fears,    Calls forth no sympathetic tears,     Time's restless course to see.        From hallowed ground        I hear the soundDiffusing through the air a holy calm around.

    Thou art the voice of Love,     To chide each doubt away;    And as thy murmur faintly dies,    Visions of past enjoyment rise     In long and bright array.        I hail the sign        That love divineWill o'er my future path in cloudless mercy shine.

    Thou art the voice of Hope!     The music of the spheres!    A song of blessings yet to come,    A herald from my future home,     My soul delighted hears.        By sin deceived,        By nature grieved.Still am I nearer rest than when I first believed.

    Thou art the voice of Life,     A sound which seems to say,    "O prisoner in this gloomy vale,    Thy flesh shall faint, thy heart, shall fail,    But fairer scenes thy spirit hail,     That cannot pass away.        Here grief and pain        Thy steps detain,There in the image of the Lord shalt thou with Jesus reign."