IN MEMORIAM

by: Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)

XV 

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O-NIGHT the winds begin to riseAnd roar from yonder dropping day;The last red leaf is whirl'd away,The rooks are blown about the skies; The forest crack'd, the waters curl'd,The cattle huddled on the lea;And wildly dash'd on tower and treeThe sunbeam strikes along the world: And but for fancies, which averThat all thy motions gently passAthwart a plane of molten glass,I scarce could brook the strain and stir That makes the barren branches loud;And but for fear it is not so,The wild unrest that lives in woeWould dote and pore on yonder cloud That rises upward always higher,And onward drags a laboring breast,And topples round the dreary west,A looming bastion fringed with fire. 

XXX With trembling fingers did we weaveThe holly round the Christmas hearth;A rainy cloud possess'd the earth,and sadly fell on Christmas-eve. At our old pastimes in the hallWe gamboll's, making vain pretenceOf gladness, with an awful senseOf one mute Shadow watching all.

 We paused: the winds were in the beech:We heard them sweep the winter land;And in a circle hand-in-handSat silent, looking each at each. Then echo-like our voices rang;We sung, tho' every eye was dim,A merry song we sang to himLast year; impetuously we sang. We ceased; a gentler feeling creptUpon us: surely rest is meet.'They rest,' we said, 'their sleep is sweet,'And silence follow'd, and we wept. Our voices took a higher range;Once more we sang: 'They do not dieNor lose their mortal sympathy,Nor change to us, altho' they change; 'Rapt from the fickle and the frailWith gather'd power, yet the same,Pierces the keen seraphic flameFrom orb to orb, from veil to veil.' Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn,Draw forth the cheerful day from night:O Father, touch the east, and lightThe light that shone when Hope was born. 

CXXXI O living will that shall endureWhen all that seems shall suffer shock,Rise in the spiritual rock,Flow thro' our deeds and make them pure, That we may lift from out of dustA voice as unto him that hears,A cry above the conquer'd yearsTo one that with us works, and trust, With faith that comes of self-control,

The truths that never can be provedUntil we close with all we loved,And all we flow from, soul to soul.

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