Poems (Odom)/The Silent House
THE SILENT HOUSE.
No gay laughter rippling lightly
On the soft rose-scented air—
Not a youthful tone of gladness—
No quick step upon the stair.
On the soft rose-scented air—
Not a youthful tone of gladness—
No quick step upon the stair.
Yet his presence ever lingers
In the quiet shaded hall,
Looking downward from the pictures
That are hanging from the wall.
In the quiet shaded hall,
Looking downward from the pictures
That are hanging from the wall.
Living fresh amid the roses
Waving in their rarest bloom,
Thrilling with his dear remembrance
Every thing about his room.
Waving in their rarest bloom,
Thrilling with his dear remembrance
Every thing about his room.
What a host of tender memories
In his mother's heart must rise,
When the sunlight through the window
Sends the glory of the skies!
In his mother's heart must rise,
When the sunlight through the window
Sends the glory of the skies!
How he loved the sunset hour,
With its waves of crimson light
Flooding all the West with glory
Gorgeous, beautiful, and bright!
With its waves of crimson light
Flooding all the West with glory
Gorgeous, beautiful, and bright!
And they often sat together,
Till the silver moonlight came
Softly through the golden twilight
With its paler, purer flame.
Till the silver moonlight came
Softly through the golden twilight
With its paler, purer flame.
Bathing all the world in beauty,
While the stars shone bright above,
Holy as the son's devotion—
Cloudless as that mother's love.
While the stars shone bright above,
Holy as the son's devotion—
Cloudless as that mother's love.
Now, the mother lingers sadly
At the casement all alone,
While the son has found the splendor,
Of the great Eternal Throne.
At the casement all alone,
While the son has found the splendor,
Of the great Eternal Throne.
Stands beside the flowing river,
Where the limpid waters roll,
Like the flow of inspiration
In his perfect artist soul.
Where the limpid waters roll,
Like the flow of inspiration
In his perfect artist soul.
Though his spirit has been lifted
To a higher, purer scene,
It must surely light the pathway
Where his living feet have been.
To a higher, purer scene,
It must surely light the pathway
Where his living feet have been.
Bending softly down the silence
From his home of bliss above,
Drawn to earthward by the yearning
Of a mother's deathless love.
From his home of bliss above,
Drawn to earthward by the yearning
Of a mother's deathless love.
Like the gentle dews of heaven
Falling on some broken flower,
Lifting up the drooping petals,
With an unseen thrilling power.
Falling on some broken flower,
Lifting up the drooping petals,
With an unseen thrilling power.
I have wept for little children
Dying in their tender years,
I have bathed their little coffins
In a flood of a bitter tears.
Dying in their tender years,
I have bathed their little coffins
In a flood of a bitter tears.
And my heart bleeds for the mother
Who has seen the cold earth piled
High above the icy bosom
Of her own and only child.
Who has seen the cold earth piled
High above the icy bosom
Of her own and only child.