Where All Is Life. 



BV JOHN P. SILVERKAIL. 



It has not been my lot to tread 



Along the paths of glorious Time, 

 Where buried lie the immortal dead 



Who flourished in Earths' natal prime. 

 Not mine to muse on Helicon, 



Nor walk in rapturous reverie. 

 Where " the mountains look on Marathon 



And Marathon looks on the sea." 

 Not mine to catch the Muses' strains 

 Above the moist Boeotian plains, 

 Nor listen, with my soul on fire, 

 To rapt Apollo's rhythmic lyre. 



But I have walked where none but God 



Had gazed the enchanted scene along, 

 Where never human foot had trod 



The dim-aisled, forest shades among. 

 Where rocky ramparts rose around, 



Aspiring to the height of Heaven. 

 I've stood 'mid silence so profound. 



It seemed that to my eyes 'twere given 

 To see Earth in her primal morn. 

 Ere sound and life and love were born — 

 Have seemed to lose all sense of space 

 And meet my Maker face to face. 



Within those peaceful solitudes 



No " Thanatopsis " e're is heard 

 But Nature's mighty interludes 



And Nature's God's omnific word ; 

 For, as in Eden, long ago. 



He walked at evening's fragrant hour, 

 So here, 'neath mellow sunset's glow. 



Show fair the footprints of His power. 

 Where rotting rock yields to the touch 

 Of rootlets' soil-creating clutch, 

 While bright the snow-capped summits shine 

 Above the ascending timber line. 



Each breeze, each rain drop, and each ray 

 That streams from forth the vernal sun, 



Speaks of a resurrection day 

 And tells of labor just begun. 



In these new Edens of the earth 

 No graves are found — all, all is life, 



Even as when Time first had its birth. 



Ere brother's hand was raised in strife, 

 Prithivi-like the earth brings forth 

 All forms of grace and matchless worth. 

 While everything breathes prophecy 

 Of something yet about to be. 



Thro' all her frame th' embracing God 



Sends thrills of wondrous ecstacy, 

 Till, all transformed, the lifeless clod 



Syniles, blooms and brightens gloriously, 

 Glad flowers spring with fragrant breath, 



And climbing vine and budding tree 

 Proclaim such triumph over death 



That song birds wake their minstrelsy ; 

 Each leaf responds to zephyr soft. 

 The torrent lifts its voice aloft. 

 While everything in Nature saith : 

 "There is no death 1 there is no death I" 



Never, where ruined empire sleeps. 



And buried greatness, turned to dust. 

 Still its unbroken silence keeps 



'Neath storied urn or marble bust. 

 May it be mine to walk and dream. 



Recalling all their vanished pride, . 

 Until once more to live thej^ seem. 



And walk in grandeur at my side ; 

 Nor where the radiant sons of men 

 Have been resolved to earth again. 

 Till earth seems but the burial place 

 Of Adam's sin-cursed, mortal race. 



But oh ! what joj^ to breathe the air 



Where God's unfinished gardens shine. 

 Where myriad forms rise new and fair 



Beneath His touch divine ; 

 To watch a new creation spring 



Where funeral dirge was never sung, 

 And hear resounding echoes ring 



The mountain crags among. 

 While glaciers grind their grist of rock 

 'Mid avalanche roar and earthquake shock. 

 Till Nature's transformation scene 

 Shows rocky ranges robed in green. 



