In the Stillness, a Poem

IN THE STILLNESS.

BY LEWIS STEWART.

Silent now the voice of gladness, Song of bird and hum of bee; And a feeling, tinged with sadness, As I gaze across the lea, Steals upon me from the mem'ries Shrined in caskets from the vast. Silent, sacred, holy chambers In the temples of the past.

Now the wish, the fret, the worry Of a heart scarce yet controll'd, Are all bound and cold and silent As these forms, in shrouds enroU'd; Forms of shrubs and trees, so ghost-like, In the dull, gray dawning light. Standing there, themselves their tombstones. Marble cold and deadly white.

Sad, I listen in the stillness For a voice, so sweet, so dear; Voice of music, voice of angel That enchants the spirit's ear: Tones of love so gently spoken, Melodies so heavenly rare, That no mortal ever hears them. Save as echoes of his prayer.

Now the heav'n-born presence thrills me; Rings the message sweet and clear:

96 IMPROVEMENT ERA.

"Tell thy friends, thy fellow mortals, With a smile and with a tear. He that died for man hath risen; He that wept is conq'ror now. Rise and free the soul from prison; Look not backward from the plow.

"Tell the children, fair, the story; Warn the maiden and the youth; Shout the tidings from the hill-tops, Dare not hide the light of truth. Christ, the holy, fills the child-heart; Christ, the peerless, wins the brave. In the brightness of his coming. Fall the fetters from the slave."

Where are now the shrouds so deathlike? Nature only sleeps awhile; And the mantling snows of winter Glisten in the sun's bright smile. Gone are all the weary fancies; Gone the sadness 'kin to pain. Snows of winter, graven tombstones, To the earth and man are gain.

Lake View, Utah.