Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/146

O mother, thou art still upon thy way,
That pilgrim way, that I have travell’d o’er!—
O why should grief thy onward footsteps stay
Towards the same home, where I have gone before?

Weep not for me! ’tis calm and stillness here,
And quiet is repose and slumber sweet,
But Life is full of noise and doubt and fear,
And hearts that ache, and sore and weary feet.

My journey’s ended, and my task is done,
No sorrow more for me, no weariness,
Though I have chang’d the golden glorious sun
For the damp grave and death’s unloveliness.

Yes! though the world is dark upon mine eye,
And all fond faces now are far away,
Yet is there One, whose perfect sympathy
Doth still amidst corruption with me stay.

That Deathless One, who put on Death awhile,
And three dark days, where I am sleeping, slept,
That Death itself might wear a gentle smile,
The comfort of the weeper for the wept.

What though I feel no more your clasp around me?
The everlasting arms embrace me now;
What though the icy chains of Death have bound me?
The token of release hath bath’d my brow.