Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889


By Lewis William Mansfield (1816–1898)

THROUGH all the silent rooms, from far away,

The light comes softly, seeking for my love;

Through all the silent rooms, day after day,—

And goes up sorrowing to its home above.

With sad dumb look, with speechless questioning,

It steps so softly through the open doors,

Where all day long the maple-shadows swing,

Alike as speechless, o’er the vacant floors.

I wonder much that through the whole round year,

Patient and sad, but hopeful as before,

It still comes seeking that which is not here,

The dear bright face which we shall see no more.

I wonder much the sunlight doth not know,

Or may not guess,—the mute and wondering light,—

That she hath gone now where the lilies blow,

By living waters, far beyond the Night.

O sunlight, go up higher! In the blue,

With harp and crowns and white robes,—close by Him,

Thy master,—thou wilt surely find a new

And glad young angel with the cherubim.

Her sweet face still the same we loved, but bright

With glories which we saw not; and her brow

Crowned with the light which Jesus gives,—a light

Burning and radiant and immortal now.