Poems (Angier)/Song of the Voices

by Annie Lanman Angier

SONG OF THE VOICES.

The voices of the vanished years—
 I hear them speak to-day;
And meekly in mute reverence bend,
 To listen what they say.

They tell of Childhood's rosy morn,
Of Youth's fair prime, of Hope's young dawn;
They murmur of the checkered Past,
They rend the veil oblivion cast.

There come from out their dreamless bed,
Fair forms of some, the world calls dead;
Close by my side I see them stand,
With forehead white—a star-crowned band.

They whisper—we have safely crossed
Seas where thy bark is tempest-tossed;
Now robe, harp, song, and victor's crown,
Are ours, with every cross laid down.

Life's deep and solemn mysteries,
That once with gloom our hearts opprest,
In heaven's light Seen, with soul serene,
We now confess—God's way was best.

Then check the tear, bid back the sigh,
Nor grieve to see the years go by;
Speed on—Eternity invites,
The soul to scale its unclimbed heights.

O Faith—that gives to blind eyes sight—
O Day—that knows nor cloud, nor night—
Pearly Gates—just left ajar,
To show the bliss that naught can mar.

The Past is past—the Future stands,
And beckons on, with upraised hands;
It points to scenes than earth more fair,
And softly says—"'Tis better there!"

So many-toned these Voices sweet,
So wise the lessons they repeat;
I fain would linger 'neath their spell,
Nor toll for bygones funeral knell.

The voices of the vanished Years—
 I hear them speak to-day;
And meekly, in mute reverence, bend,
 To listen what they say.