Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IT IS WELL, by LUCY H. HOOPER


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IT IS WELL, by                    
First Line: Twas a low grave they led me to, o'ergrown
Last Line: "above that quiet refuge -- ""it is well."
Subject(s): Death - Children; Graves; Death - Babies; Tombs; Tombstones


Written after being shown the inscription on the grave of a child in the Brooklyn church-yard,
bearing only the date, the age, and these simple words, "It is well."

'T WAS a low grave they led me to, o'ergrown
With violets of the Spring, and starry moss,
And all the sweet wild flow'rets that disclose
Their hues and fragrance round the dreamless couch,
As if to tell how quietly the head
That here had throbb'd so feverishly, doth rest.
'T was a low grave, and the soft zephyrs play'd
Gently around it; and the setting sun
Gleam'd brightly on the marble at its head,
Bearing the date -- the name -- the few brief years,
Of one whose blessed lot it was to pass
To the fair Land of Promise, ere the chill
And blight of this dark world had power to cast
A shade on life's pure blossom; while the dew
Of morning was upon its leaves, and all
The outward world was beauty; ere the eye
Had ever wept in secret, or the heart
Grown heavy with a sorrow unconfess'd.
Was it a bitter lot? That stainless stone
Answer'd the query; but one line it bore --
One brief inscription, thrilling the deep heart
Of those who, leaning o'er that narrow mound,
Mused over life's vain sorrow:

"It is well."
Ay, the deep words had meaning; but what grief
Had taught the lone survivors thus to count
The sum of all, and, struggling with their tears,
Write only -- "It is well?" Oh! well for her
To rest on that green earth -- to lay the head
Unwearied on its bosom, and to seek
A refuge from the coldness of the world,
Ere yet its shaft had pierced her.

"It is well."
And, oh! for us who, musing o'er that grave,
Sigh for the rest a stranger's breast hath found,
Were it not well, in the heart's hour of grief,
When Earth is dim, and all her shining streams
Discourse no more in music to our ears --
When shadows rest upon her brightest flowers,
And the continual sorrow of the soul
Doth darken sun and moon, to dream at last
Of a still rest beneath the lowly stone --
A calm, unbroken slumber, where the eye
Shall weep no more in sadness, and the pulse
Forget its quick, wild throbbings?

O'er that grave
Such were my musings, till a deeper truth
Broke on my mind, as the blue violet shed
Its sweetness round me, and the evening winds
Brought fragrance from afar; and then I pray'd,
In lowliness of heart, that I might bear
In faith "the heat and burden of the day,"
And never, till His purpose was fulfill'd,
And every errand He had set perform'd
In trusting patience, sigh for dreamless rest,
Nor till th' impartial pen of Truth could write
Above that quiet refuge -- "It is well."





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net