Fraternity-Testvériség, 1941 (19. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)

1941-12-01 / 12. szám

20

TESTVÉRISÉG

How pale the moon then downward shone Among the graves! The midnight breeze In sadder cadence breathes its moan,

While shivering through the church yard trees.

When slow upheaved each dewy mound Whereon a cypress-wreath was laid,

And faintly o’er the creeping ground

Pale lights, like summer lightnings, played.

And sheeted forms half-rose and took The cypress in their fingers pale,

When all around the churchyard woke A wild, low, solemn spirit-wail.

“Not yet! not yet!” the wail arose,

“The flowers of joy above us lie,

To tell us that our country’s woes

And all its sorrows are gone by!”

“Not yet! not yet!” and as they tost

Their shrouded arms, a wailing prayer Now the gaping crypts was lost,

Now died upon the sobbing air,

“How long, O Lord! O Lord, how long!”

The very stars grew pale, to hear While mute became the cushat’s song Low stealing on the night’s sad ear.

Then, sudden, down the dim air sped

A strange, bright bird of wonderous flight,

That, poising o’er the churchyard, shed All round a flood of golden light.

“THE DAY WILL COME!” in sweet, low strain,

A far-off voice serenely breathed,

And up the strange, bright bird again Slow circled, by a glory wreathed.

The mournful cypress on their brow,

Their pale hands folded on their breast,

“the day will come!” repeating low

The warriors sank again to rest.

Once more the stars shine brightly forth,

Once more the softly sobbing breeze,

Like a low wail of spirit birth,

Went whispering through the churchyard trees.

And there still sleep, with cypress crowned,

Hungaria’s warrior dead! O God!

When shall the blessed midnight sound,

To plant the JOY-FLOWER on the sod?

I wait, O God! I wait to see

The eagle poising o’er my home;

For still the sweet voice breathes to me

In far off lands, “THE DAY WILL COME!”

Mrs. C. M. Sawyer

Prom: The Rose of Sharon

A Religious Souvenir for 1854

Boston, 1854.