Page:Poems Eckley.djvu/103

Not so in that valley
 The Psalmist passed through,
"With the rod and the staff,"
 Still his comfort anew;
Not so when the heart
 Is hush'd under the sod,
And calm the soul sleeps
 In the bosom of God.

But awake, we speed thro'
 This valley of death,
The spirit still chained in
 Its prison of breath.
How black is the darkness!
 How sullen the gloom!
The train's solemn thunder,
 Through the tunnel's drear tomb.