The Communion

They knelt them side by side; the hoary manWhose memory was an age, and she whose cheekGleam'd like that velvet, which the young moss-rosePuts blushing forth, from its scarce sever'd sheath.There was the sage,—whose eye of science spansThe comet in his path of fire,—and sheWhose household duty was her sole delight,And highest study. On the chancel clasp'd,In meek devotion, were those bounteous handsThat scatter thousands at the call of Christ,And his, whose labor wins the scanty breadFor his young children. There the man of might

On bended knee, fast by his servant's side,Sought the same Master,—brethren in the faith,And fellow-pilgrims.See, yon wrinkled browWhere care and grief for many a year have trac'dAlternate furrows,—near that ruby lip,Which but the honey and the dew of loveHave nourish'd. And for each, eternal healthDescendeth here.Look! Look! as yon deep veilIs swept aside, what an o'erwhelming pageDisease hath written with its pen of pain.Ah, gentle sister, thou art hasting whereNo treacherous hectic plants its funeral rose:Drink thou the wine-cup of thy risen Lord,And it shall nerve thee for thy toilsome pathThrough the dark valley of the shade of death.—'Tis o'er. A holy silence reigns around.The organ slumbers. The sweet, solemn voiceOf him who dealt the soul its heavenly foodTurns inward, like a wearied sentinel,Pillowing on thought profound.Then every headBows down in parting worship, mute and deep,The whisper of the soul. And who may tellIn that brief, silent space, how many a hopeIs born that hath a life beyond the tomb.—So hear us, Father! in our voiceless prayer,That at thy better banquet, all may meet,And take the cup of bliss, and thirst no more.