Select poems / by L.H. Sigourney [electronic resource]

PASSING AWAY.

"The fashion of this world passeth away."

—I CORINTHIANS, VII, 31.

A Rose upon her mossy stem, Fair Queen of Flora's gay domain, All graceful wore her diadem, The brightest 'mid the brilliant train; But evening came, with frosty breath, And, ere the quick return of day, Her beauties, in the blight of death, Had pass'd away.

I saw, when morning gemmed the sky, A fair young creature gladly rove, Her moving lip was melody, Her varying smile the charm of love; At eve I came—but on her bed She drooped, with forehead pale as clay— "What dost thou here?"—she faintly said, "Passing away."

I looked on manhood's towering form Like some tall oak when tempests blow, That scorns the fury of the storm And strongly strikes its root below. Again I looked—with idiot cower His vacant eye's unmeaning ray Told how the mind of godlike power Passeth away.

O earth! no better wealth hast thou? No balsam for the heart that bleeds? Fade all thy blossoms on their bough? Fail all thy props like bruised reeds? The soul replied, "My hopes are wreath'd Around the bowers of changeless day, Where angel tones have never breath'd 'Passing away.'"