Poems (Chitwood)/I Change but in Dying
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"I CHANGE BUT IN DYING."
O change not then, thou hast lov'd me here.
Wilt thou love me less in another sphere?
I can not think that our truth shall decay
With the last unclasp of these bonds of clay.
I can not think, when I close thine eyes,
And Kiss from the lips the last low sighs,—
Oh, I can not think when we meet above
We will feel no thrill of earth-born love.
Wilt thou love me less in another sphere?
I can not think that our truth shall decay
With the last unclasp of these bonds of clay.
I can not think, when I close thine eyes,
And Kiss from the lips the last low sighs,—
Oh, I can not think when we meet above
We will feel no thrill of earth-born love.
I shall know thee there, I shall know thee there
By the rippling waves of thy sunny hair,
By the holy light of thine azure eye,
By the lip's sweet smile, and the heart's reply;
For surely death will not quite erase
The earthly look of thy childlike face—
Yes, yes, by the love I gave thee here,
I shall know thee still in another sphere.
By the rippling waves of thy sunny hair,
By the holy light of thine azure eye,
By the lip's sweet smile, and the heart's reply;
For surely death will not quite erase
The earthly look of thy childlike face—
Yes, yes, by the love I gave thee here,
I shall know thee still in another sphere.
Yes, thou wilt be mine in the "better land,"
Where full harps sound, and the angels stand;
When the light, that falls on cheek and brow,
Will bring no change, as it brings thee now;
Where no strong hand can tear apart
The bright love-ties of the faithful heart.
By the truth and faith I gave thee here,
I shall Tove thee still in another sphere.
Where full harps sound, and the angels stand;
When the light, that falls on cheek and brow,
Will bring no change, as it brings thee now;
Where no strong hand can tear apart
The bright love-ties of the faithful heart.
By the truth and faith I gave thee here,
I shall Tove thee still in another sphere.
Farewell, farewell, like a gentle dove
Thou wilt soon fly home to the ark of love;
Lay thy dear head here, on this faithful breast;
Thou art weary now, but soon wilt rest.
Let me feel the clasp of thy small white hand,
In the last good bye for the better land;
Keep, keep thy truth when we meet above,
Let thy heart meet mine in its trusting love.
Thou wilt soon fly home to the ark of love;
Lay thy dear head here, on this faithful breast;
Thou art weary now, but soon wilt rest.
Let me feel the clasp of thy small white hand,
In the last good bye for the better land;
Keep, keep thy truth when we meet above,
Let thy heart meet mine in its trusting love.
Farewell, farewell, thou art going now,
The hue of death is upon thy brow;
Wilt thou come again, in the silent night,
And speak sweet words, while the stars are bright?
Shall I look for thee in vain, in vain,
In sorrow, or sadness, joy, or pain?
Lave, lave my brow from the holy springs.
With the drops of faith from thy shining wings.
The hue of death is upon thy brow;
Wilt thou come again, in the silent night,
And speak sweet words, while the stars are bright?
Shall I look for thee in vain, in vain,
In sorrow, or sadness, joy, or pain?
Lave, lave my brow from the holy springs.
With the drops of faith from thy shining wings.
Thou art gone, gone, gone; they will place from sight
The gentle form in its robe of white;
They will lay thee down where the alders bloom,
In the wide, dark arms of the solemn tomb.
Oh, how shall I weep o'er the mound of clay,
As the weary years glide slowly away.
Farewell, farewell, I have loved thee here,
I shall meet thee, soon, in another sphere.
The gentle form in its robe of white;
They will lay thee down where the alders bloom,
In the wide, dark arms of the solemn tomb.
Oh, how shall I weep o'er the mound of clay,
As the weary years glide slowly away.
Farewell, farewell, I have loved thee here,
I shall meet thee, soon, in another sphere.