The Soldier's Grave

I.
For thee are sanctuaries dreamed
No loving hand shall ever shape;
Thy spirit when love's light is streamed
Shall haunt them, never to escape.

And thou within thy living fane
Shalt lie, untrammelled by the mould
With corn rejoicing to the rain;
And where thou art shall be untold.

II.
What fountain hath the murmur in my heart?
Not any river from the hills of pain,
Nor mournful lake of Sorrow; but a part
Of Love's fulfilment, shedding a soft rain.

Thou bird the eve adorning when all light
Hath left the furrow, is thy song a prayer
Too thankful for the day? Be thou the rite
Love cannot speak to courage sleeping there.

What hath the morning in her mystic robe?
I will not kneel for pity; I will pray
My heart shall be upifted like the globe
Nightly deserting darkness for the day.

Oh, sunbeam from the cloud beleaguering heaven
Shall not my heart like thee escape the shade?
How small the cleft of cloud; yet thou hast given
One leap to earth—oh, heart be not afraid!

—Hubert Church.