Poems (Gould, 1833)/The Empty Bier
THE EMPTY BIER.
Thou empty bier, that standest here Alone, by the church-yard gate,Say, whose the door thou'lt pause before Thy burden next to wait?
The bier replied—'My range is wide, And my hours of rest but few;Yet, to One alone can the ways be known That I must hence pursue.
'I first may seek her form, whose cheek Is fresh in its maiden bloom,On me to lie, with a rayless eye, At the threshold of the tomb.
'The youth, who last sped by so fast, With the nerve and the glow of health—He next may find, that close behind Death followed him by stealth.
'Or she, who smiled, when the lovely child She was lately leading near,With wonder stopped, and his lilies dropped, To gaze at the sable bier—
'That mother may be called to lay That beauteous boy on me,In his morning hour, like the dewy flower He lost, and as suddenly.
'Her own pale clay to bear away, It next may be my lot;She may close her eyes on her infant ties, And her prattler be forgot.
'As I must call, in time, for all, From the babe to the silver-haired,Thy glance at me, perchance may be, A hint to be prepared!'