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Pale crescent moon, ere thy soft light
Fades from the summer evening sky,
I'll linger one short hour to-night
Beneath thy gently beaming eye.
The glowing sun has sunk to zest,
The whisperings of the wind are still,
The dew-drops lie on earth's warm breast,
And flowers are slumbering on the hill.
No sound disturbs this solemn hour,
Save music of one little bird,
That sits in yonder leafy bower,
Whence its sweet, thrilling song is heard.
Oh, little bird, with thee I'll sing
One low, and sad, and plaintive lay;
The burden of my heart I'll fling
Aside in music – then away.
Sweet sister, 'tis of thee, of thee
My little heart is full to-night;
Thy voice I hear, thy form I see,
Clothed in an angel's robe of white.
Thou glidest with ethereal grace,
And a bright seraph's form is thine;
But, by that smile upon thy face,
I know, I know thou still art mine.,
We were but three: in childhood's hours,
Hand linked in hand, at morning's dawn,
We sought the greenwood's cooling bowers,
Or bounded o'er the grassy lawn.
We culled the flowers in shady vale,
We found them on the green, green hill;
Those blossoms, beautiful as frail,
We gathered by the sparkling rill.
We sang with all the little birds;
We watched the squirrels on the tree;
The woods rang with our joyous words,
Our merry laugh – we sisters three.
We were but three: our girlhood's days.
Went gliding like some fairy dream,
As, singing many joyous lays,
We sailed adown life's rapid stream;
The sun shone in the blue above,
A bright sun in the blue below;
Borne onward by the breath of love,
How gently, gently did we go.
Our life seemed but n joyous round
Of merry laughter, song, and glee;
Insight as the spring bird's wing would bound
Our happy hearts – we sisters three.
We were but three: our riper years,
Though sometimes shaded o'er with sadness,
Though smiles were sometimes chased by tears,
And mingled was our cup of gladness,
We knew "it was not all of life
To live, nor all of death to die;"
We knew that sorrow, pain, and strife
Ne'er reached that world beyond the sky;
We knew 'twas but a fleeting dream,
Our journey "o'er life's solemn sea;"
So, trustful, down the shadowy stream
We glided on – we sisters three.
We were but three: the angel death
Looked on our little trio band;
He stilled the pulse, he stole the breath,
And bore one to the spirit land.
With aching hearts, with streaming eyes,
We laid her gently down to rest,
Beneath the blue and smiling skies,
Upon the green earth's quiet breast.
We list in vain to hear her tone;
We gaze in vain her form to see:
Dust turns to dust, the spirit's flown –
We are no longer – sisters three!
We are but two! Oh, sister dear,
One golden link in life's bright chain,
Which bound our hearts together here,
Is broken, ne'er to clasp again.
We feel an aching void within
Which this sad world can never fill;
But from her home, above life's din,
There comes a sweet voice, "Peace, be still.
Though passed, oh loved ones, from thy vision,
My spirit lingers still wick thee;
And, "in my own bright home elysian,
I love thee – we are sisters three!"
We still are three: death could not ever
That holy tie – a sister's love.
She still is oars, and ours for ever,
Though passed to her bright home above.
And though on earth long years we linger,
Through scenes of sorrows though we roam,
We still shall see a mystic finger
Point upward to her own bright home.
And when, upon some angel's pinion,
We soar, our weary spirits free,
There, there, in that serene dominion,
For ever we are sisters three!
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