<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472337" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Poem. Dedication of the Pittsfield Cemetery</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">ANGEL of Death! extend thy silent reign! <br>Stretch thy dark sceptre o’er this new domain<br>No sable car along the winding road<br>Has borne to earth its unresisting load;<br>No sudden mound has risen yet to show<br>Where the pale slumberer folds his arms below;<br>No marble gleams to bid his memory live<br>In the brief lines that hurrying Time can give;<br>Yet, O Destroyer! from thy shrouded throne<br>Look on our gift; this realm is all thine own!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair is the scene; its sweetness oft beguiled<br>From their dim paths the children of the wild;<br>The dark-haired maiden loved its grassy dells,<br>The feathered warrior claimed its wooded swells,<br>Still on its slopes the ploughman’s ridges show<br>The pointed flints that left his fatal bow,<br>Chipped with rough art and slow barbarian toil,—­<br>Last of his wrecks that strews the alien soil! <br>Here spread the fields that heaped their ripened store<br>Till the brown arms of Labor held no more;<br>The scythe’s broad meadow with its dusky blush;<br>The sickle’s harvest with its velvet flush;<br>The green-haired maize, her silken tresses laid,<br>In soft luxuriance, on her harsh brocade;<br>The gourd that swells beneath her tossing plume;<br>The coarser wheat that rolls in lakes of bloom,—­<br>Its coral stems and milk-white flowers alive<br>With the wide murmurs of the scattered hive;<br>Here glowed the apple with the pencilled streak<br>Of morning painted on its southern cheek;<br>The pear’s long necklace strung with golden drops,<br>Arched, like the banian, o’er its pillared props;<br>Here crept the growths that paid the laborer’s care<br>With the cheap luxuries wealth consents to spare;<br>Here sprang the healing herbs which could not save<br>The hand that reared them from the neighboring grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet all its varied charms, forever free<br>From task and tribute, Labor yields to thee<br>No more, when April sheds her fitful rain,<br>The sower’s hand shall cast its flying grain;<br>No more, when Autumn strews the flaming leaves,<br>The reaper’s band shall gird its yellow sheaves;<br>For thee alike the circling seasons flow<br>Till the first blossoms heave the latest snow. <br>In the stiff clod below the whirling drifts,<br>In the loose soil the springing herbage lifts,<br>In the hot dust beneath the parching weeds,<br>Life’s withering flower shall drop its shrivelled seeds;<br>Its germ entranced in thy unbreathing sleep<br>Till what thou sowest mightier angels reap!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Spirit of Beauty! let thy graces blend<br>With loveliest Nature all that Art can lend. <br>Come from the bowers where Summer’s life-blood flows<br>Through the red lips of June’s half-open rose,<br>Dressed in bright hues, the loving sunshine’s dower;<br>For tranquil Nature owns no mourning flower. <br>Come from the forest where the beech’s screen<br>Bars the fierce moonbeam with its flakes of green;<br>Stay the rude axe that bares the shadowy plains,<br>Stanch the deep wound That dries the maple’s veins. <br>Come with the stream whose silver-braided rills<br>Fling their unclasping bracelets from the hills,<br>Till in one gleam, beneath the forest’s wings,<br>Melts the white glitter of a hundred springs. <br>Come from the steeps where look majestic forth<br>From their twin thrones the Giants of the North<br>On the huge shapes, that, crouching at their knees,<br>Stretch their broad shoulders, rough with shaggy trees. <br>Through the wide waste of ether, not in vain,<br>Their softened gaze shall reach our distant plain;<br>There, while the mourner turns his aching eyes<br>On the blue mounds that print the bluer skies,<br>Nature shall whisper that the fading view<br>Of mightiest grief may wear a heavenly hue. <br>Cherub of Wisdom! let thy marble page<br>Leave its sad lesson, new to every age;<br>Teach us to live, not grudging every breath<br>To the chill winds that waft us on to death,<br>But ruling calmly every pulse it warms,<br>And tempering gently every word it forms. <br>Seraph of Love! in heaven’s adoring zone,<br>Nearest of all around the central throne,<br>While with soft hands the pillowed turf we spread<br>That soon shall hold us in its dreamless bed,<br>With the low whisper,—­Who shall first be laid<br>In the dark chamber’s yet unbroken shade?—­<br>Let thy sweet radiance shine rekindled here,<br>And all we cherish grow more truly dear. <br>Here in the gates of Death’s o’erhanging vault,<br>Oh, teach us kindness for our brother’s fault<br>Lay all our wrongs beneath this peaceful sod,<br>And lead our hearts to Mercy and its God.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">FATHER of all! in Death’s relentless claim<br>We read thy mercy by its sterner name;<br>In the bright flower that decks the solemn bier,<br>We see thy glory in its narrowed sphere;<br>In the deep lessons that affliction draws,<br>We trace the curves of thy encircling laws;<br>In the long sigh that sets our spirits free,<br>We own the love that calls us back to Thee!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through the hushed street, along the silent plain,<br>The spectral future leads its mourning train,<br>Dark with the shadows of uncounted bands,<br>Where man’s white lips and woman’s wringing hands<br>Track the still burden, rolling slow before,<br>That love and kindness can protect no more;<br>The smiling babe that, called to mortal strife,<br>Shuts its meek eyes and drops its little life;<br>The drooping child who prays in vain to live,<br>And pleads for help its parent cannot give;<br>The pride of beauty stricken in its flower;<br>The strength of manhood broken in an hour;<br>Age in its weakness, bowed by toil and care,<br>Traced in sad lines beneath its silvered hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun shall set, and heaven’s resplendent spheres<br>Gild the smooth turf unhallowed yet by tears,<br>But ah! how soon the evening stars will shed<br>Their sleepless light around the slumbering dead!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Take them, O Father, in immortal trust! <br>Ashes to ashes, dust to kindred dust,<br>Till the last angel rolls the stone away,<br>And a new morning brings eternal day!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oliver+Wendell+Holmes">Oliver Wendell Holmes</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472337" data-title="A Poem. Dedication of the Pittsfield Cemetery de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="ANGEL of Death! extend thy silent reign! Stretch thy dark sceptre o’er this new domain No sable car along the winding road Has borne to earth its unresisting load; No sudden mound has risen yet to show Where the pale slumberer folds his ar..."></div> </div> </div>

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