Poems (Chitwood)/Amelia
AMELIA.
It seems not half so hard to die,
To cross death's darkly foaming river,
To leave, without a tear or sigh,
This world, and all its scenes, forever,—
Since thou art dead.
To cross death's darkly foaming river,
To leave, without a tear or sigh,
This world, and all its scenes, forever,—
Since thou art dead.
So near seems heaven's own radiant shore,
So dark earth's lonely way of sorrow,
My heart keeps longing, more and more,
For the eternal, glorious morrow,—
Since thou art dead.
So dark earth's lonely way of sorrow,
My heart keeps longing, more and more,
For the eternal, glorious morrow,—
Since thou art dead.
Our love, it was no idle thing,
By death its links can not be riven:
Thou'lt meet me on thy snowy wing,
Thou'lt love me in that happy heaven,—
Where none are dead.
By death its links can not be riven:
Thou'lt meet me on thy snowy wing,
Thou'lt love me in that happy heaven,—
Where none are dead.
Blest hope! like some clear shining star,
It gilds the clouds from which it started;
The way will not be dark or far,
And then no more shall we be parted,—
No more be dead.
It gilds the clouds from which it started;
The way will not be dark or far,
And then no more shall we be parted,—
No more be dead.