Poems (Fields)/The Dead

by James Thomas Fields

THE DEAD.

"Still the same, no charm forgot,—
Nothing lost that Time had given."

Forget not the Dead, who have loved, who have left us,
 Who bend o'er us now, from their bright homes above;
But believe,— never doubt,—that the God who bereft us
 Permits them to mingle with friends they still love.

Repeat their fond words, all their noble deeds cherish,
 Speak pleasantly of them who left us in tears;—
Other joys may be lost, but their names should not perish
 While time bears our feet through the valley of years.

Dear friends of our youth! can we cease to remember
 The last look of life, and the low-whispered prayer?
O, cold be our hearts as the ice of December
 When Love's tablets record no remembrances there.

Then forget not the Dead, who are evermore nigh us,
 Still floating sometimes to our dream-haunted bed;—
In the loneliest hour, in the crowd, they are by us;
 Forget not the Dead! oh, forget not the Dead!