Death crossed his threshold yesterday
And left the glad voice of his loved one dumb.
To him the living now will come
And cross his threshold in the self-same way
To clasp his hand and vainly try to say
Words that shall soothe the heart that’s stricken numb.
And I shall be among them in that place
So still and silent, where she used to sing—
The glad, sweet spirit that has taken wing—
Where shone the radiance of her lovely face,
And where she met him oft with fond embrace,
I shall step in to share his sorrowing.
Beside the staircase that has known her hand
And in the hall her presence made complete,
The home her life endowed with memories sweet
Where everything has heard her sweet command
And seems to wear her beauty, I shall stand
Wondering just how to greet him when we meet.
I dread the very silence of the place,
I dread our meeting and the time to speak—
Speech seems so vain when sorrow’s at the peak!
Yet though my words lack soothing power or grace,
Perhaps he’ll catch their meaning in my face
And read the tears which glisten on my cheek.
