The Daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1845-1850, 1850-05-17
Written for the Spy,
THE VOICES OF THE DEAD!
BY EDWIN BYNNER.

L Hc uedu we lONCu llelr cherished IOTHS
Have passed away. The sswhips and scorns''-
nd penalties of earth, are theirs no longer,
But, tho no more, by earthly light,
Their lineaments may bless our sight;
'ur love, wi time, but grows the stronger.
Thro' how many years,
OF struggling for lie's promised guerdon,
he iainting heart, thy memory cheers,
To lift and bear it's heavy burden.
flowing
In it's depth, and it's stillness-between;
Eo' maynot near to their presence so glowing
Till we plunge in Deaths swift-running stream;
md often, when near US, it's black pillows roll
As we stand on the threatening brink
Across the dark tide, comes Voice to the soul,
Which bids it not falter, nor shrink;
md we think of them then as we loved them of old
In the freshness and fervour of youth,
When heart-shrined affections, in faces told,
That were radiant with Love, and with Truth.
Forms! that once we fondIy pressed,
That, warmly, ours, have oft caressed--
Eyes! that ever brightest shone,
When beams of gladness lit our own,
Or, when LIES path was dark and drear,
Were moist with sympathy's warm tear
Lips! whose impress still we feel
Sometime, DER the senses steal
Tonguesi that framed kind words to cheer us
When despair grindy near us
Supporting arms! by love extended,
When, but for them, our hopes were ended
And hands! that safely led us on,
Alike in sunshine or in storm
All these are gone: and, in the grave,
Are powerless-to help, or save.
But, tho all these have passed away
From Love and Time, to swift decay
Around us, when the heart is sore,
Their spirits hover, evermore;
And oft-the sound, the soul reioices,
The welcome music of their voices.
Oft, in the busy marts of men,
In crowded cities-nidst the din
And Babel-sounds of Commerce-whcn,
Rude jostled by the exciting throng,
We stand-unheeded and alone,
Midst Mammon's votaries, and sigh,
That, of the countless passers by,
No soul is kip;o ours
No somd-from the vast multitude
OF welcome! when our solitude
Is strange-and sad-and Oakland deep
As tho some gloomy dungeon-keep,
To which no gaddening ray could come,
Were, evermore, to be our home:
Alone--mid thousands! lonelier far
Than desert wanderers ever are,
Fen in their darkest hours.
Then! memories, swiftly flashing DER us,
Bring back the loved who We gone before u.s.
Then, sweetly thro' the aching head,
Sound soothing Voices of the Dead
And oft when winters storms are beating.
And cashing winds are fercey meeting
We sit within our lonely room,
With sinking hearts, amid the gloom,
When sleep all vainy woos, to bind US
In glad oblivion, midnight finds us
Nakelul, mid the warning host,
As sentinel on dangers post;
And-like him-anxious, watchfii, peering-
Some new peril, ever fearng,-
In trust, some ray of light to borrow,
To cheer and bless the coming morrow.
In LIES dark hours, the heart despairing
OF the Present-little caring
For that Future, dim and cIouded,
That seems with sorrow all enshrouded;
Then! in cadence sweet and swelling.
Come tales of Hope! of Angels telling,
Whilst the startled spirit listens
And gratefully the moist eve glistens-
Then! ringing through the aching head,
Sound cheering voices of Dead
Or, when LIES wrestlings cease awhile.
And Sorrow S stayed, that JOY NAV smile.
And Passion, hilshed on SIumber's pillow.
Sleeps, as the Dead beneath the willow,
Removed from cities toll and strife,
We seek calmer, purer life,
And, rowing greenfield over bless
The Power that made the wilderness;
And sit beneath the starry sky,
OF summer nights, or idly lie,
Outstretched upon the dewy sward,
With Nature, keeping watch and ward;
Earth's millions sleeping-all is still,
Save trickling voice Of distant rill,
Or mrmuring streamet's tinkling sounds.
AS onward to the vale it bounds;
The sonorous frog--lone vigil keeping
While his ordly master 5 sleeping
Sends his love-notes DER the lea
Where the night-bird whistles plaintiyelv.
Whilst, from wooded hills among,
Comes the ruatIng forest song
Songs-the waving foliage sings
When brushed by Zephyr's gentle wings.
Sweet silver sounds, like Angels wingng
Distant fight, their gold harps stringng,
Iuneiu, Heaven-ward to raise
Earth's glad gratitude and praises
And tree and shrub, and plant and flower
Are all rejoicing in the hour
Whilst hum, of myriad insect.notes,
Chords with the harmony that floats,
In cadence sweet, DER land and sea.
Filling earth with melody
Each separate sound, with music rife,
Swels Natures Ov9taesto Life.
And we gaze at the starry lamps above.
liat Hume our world with the light of Love.
Iypes-nnchanging, pure, and mild
VI lis love for Man-IIis erring child,
Eternal! Infinite! full, and sure,
AS Time to last, or Heaven endure;
Each silvery meteor-earh- ward streaming
His messenger Of Mercy, seeming
Then! Glled with the love of the good and true.
Our souls are armed for the strife anew
Praises unbidden---lrom full hearts spring,
TO Him, orr Father, Heavens King!-
Ihn!-while Joy dims the eye with tears,
Come the tones we loved, in by-gone years
Sweet, cheering tones--that bid us trust
Firmly in Him; forever just
Aud words of Hope, in our ears are said,
by the deathless Voices of the Dead!
n the silence of night--at the breaking of dawn
a the glory of sunlight--or gloom of the storm;
" hen perils around us are thickcs and nearest,