Poems (Eckley)/A Voice
VOICE comes wailing o'er the wave
From the dear land afar;
Alas! my country, that such wails
Should reach us here of war;
A trumpet note, a dread appeal,
That shakes the throbbing world,
Until the march of human hearts
Stands still—the banners furled!
A VOICE.Also in thy skirts is found the blood of the souls of the poor Innocents."—Jer. ii. 34.
VOICE comes wailing o'er the waveFrom the dear land afar;
Alas! my country, that such wails
Should reach us here of war;
A trumpet note, a dread appeal,
That shakes the throbbing world,
Until the march of human hearts
Stands still—the banners furled!
There was a vase, a golden vase
Hid in that forest green,
Held by a chain, but cloud-wrought links,
Now melted into rain—
The rain of human tears that fall,
Because that vase is broken,
In fragments lie the shattered bits,
Mournful and sad a token.
Hid in that forest green,
Held by a chain, but cloud-wrought links,
Now melted into rain—
The rain of human tears that fall,
Because that vase is broken,
In fragments lie the shattered bits,
Mournful and sad a token.
Still, still, the voice is wailing sad
O'er these blue fields of air,
Echoed from billows of the sea,
From the dear land afar.
Alas! my country, golden links
In thy bright chain are riven,
We need the smile of God to cheer,
From these blue rents of heaven.
O'er these blue fields of air,
Echoed from billows of the sea,
From the dear land afar.
Alas! my country, golden links
In thy bright chain are riven,
We need the smile of God to cheer,
From these blue rents of heaven.
1861.