Poems (Odom)/The Silent House
THE SILENT HOUSE.
No gay laughter rippling lightly On the soft rose-scented air—Not a youthful tone of gladness— No quick step upon the stair.
Yet his presence ever lingers In the quiet shaded hall,Looking downward from the pictures That are hanging from the wall.
Living fresh amid the roses Waving in their rarest bloom,Thrilling with his dear remembrance Every thing about his room.
What a host of tender memories In his mother's heart must rise,When the sunlight through the window Sends the glory of the skies!
How he loved the sunset hour, With its waves of crimson lightFlooding all the West with glory Gorgeous, beautiful, and bright!
And they often sat together, Till the silver moonlight cameSoftly through the golden twilight With its paler, purer flame.
Bathing all the world in beauty, While the stars shone bright above,Holy as the son's devotion— Cloudless as that mother's love.
Now, the mother lingers sadly At the casement all alone,While the son has found the splendor, Of the great Eternal Throne.
Stands beside the flowing river, Where the limpid waters roll,Like the flow of inspiration In his perfect artist soul.
Though his spirit has been lifted To a higher, purer scene,It must surely light the pathway Where his living feet have been.
Bending softly down the silence From his home of bliss above,Drawn to earthward by the yearning Of a mother's deathless love.
Like the gentle dews of heaven Falling on some broken flower,Lifting up the drooping petals, With an unseen thrilling power.
I have wept for little children Dying in their tender years,I have bathed their little coffins In a flood of a bitter tears.
And my heart bleeds for the mother Who has seen the cold earth piledHigh above the icy bosom Of her own and only child.