The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1862-10-18
Original 1)uetrp.
Fsr The Cecil Wing.
In McmOria G. r..

The great wheels of the universe roll on
With irresistible and silent force.
And goddess Summer. with her singing birds
And royal lilies. sinks into her grave
y thousand hills are putting on their robes
or yellow, crimson and iar-beamng gold
Such as the brush of painter never threw
Upon the magic canvas. Far IA eye
Can sweep the world of fair and living things,
The mountains rise into the sapphire vault
Like doncS Of burning opal s,rcukcd with
bars
OF scarlet and of hazv hvacintl.
Already do the falling leaves begin
10 strew the dim walks of the messy woods
That ovcrhang the sparkling Delaware.
The marigolds and astcrs at my door
That have cherished through the long.
bright days
With joy and tender care, are whitening.
And these. with winds, the warm South
winds that bring
The murky clouds, aud drcnch the hills with
rain,
Blowing o or fields which cannon balls have
torn
And wailing round the homes which father,
friend,
Brother and husband shall make glad no
more;
These form season fit for tender thought
With resistless power. In them their lies
y magic to restore the past and raise
Times. friends, looks and dear faces from
Like Jesus at the grave of Lazarus.
meet again my dear. departed friend,
] walk with him the silent forest WAYS.
And look upon the rich and lordy qonp
That rob,s these Northern hills. ! clash
the hand,
hear, within, the voice Of one whose crave
Grows grccncr as the swift months eide
away,
Upon the distant soil of MARYLAND.
The trusts of Winter and the balm of Spring.
The Summers wealth of music aud OF dew.
And Autumn $ melancholy glory. all
Have passed above that grave. and the sad
eyes
of mother, brother sister. wife and child
Have gathered there above that dust To weep
Have looked upon the marble reared above
The eyes scaled in that long, long, dreadful
sleep.
And asked. where is he and what is he .
What
he issue of his sutierings, tolls and and
care?
What is that realm through which he walk
to day,
What forms arc round him and what skies
above.
And who are they toward whom his soul
goes forth
With tcndcrcat ycarnings now? Does he
The hearts that loved him here? Has he
no more
y part in all that 5 suffered said and done
Here where the sun shines ON II world made
OF rn II; mortal frailtics, tears and
graves?
What are his thoughts, what are the sights
that rise
Upon his eye: what urc tho sounds that stir
His year III those mysterious realms where
Has found "A home? Has he thrown off the
That bound him, through the insuflcrablc
tides
OF stlcndor and of harmony that roll
Across his path from every hill and vale
And temple dome of that unchanginp world ?
Or can our thoughts. our ycarnings; our dark
Our joys and suherings reach him where he
dwclls?
There comes no answer from the wailing
winds,
Nor from the falling leaves that choke the
streams
With Autumn n;lild symbols of the grave,
Nor yet from this low mound within whust
cell
The ashes of my unforgottcn friend
Are dropping back into the dull, brown
mould.
Here let him rest yes, we will give him up
Into the hands OF Him who gave and took
Without Il doubt or fear ; and we will hope
To see him yet again and hear his voice.
SO let us wait God awful word and huur
/. II.