Skip to Content
Indiana University

Search Options




View Options


Poems . Craik, Dinah Maria Mulock, 1826–1887.
previous
next
page: 221

THE CATHEDRAL TOMBS.

“Post tempestatem tranquillitas.”

Epitaph in Ely Cathedral.

  • THEY lie, with upraised hands, and feet
  • Stretched like dead feet that walk no more,
  • And stony masks oft human sweet,
  • As if the olden look each wore,
  • Familiar curves of lip and eye,
  • Were wrought by some fond memory.
  • All waiting: the new‐coffined dead,
  • The handful of mere dust that lies
  • Sarcophagused in stone and lead
  • Under the weight of centuries:
  • Knight, cardinal, bishop, abbess mild,
  • With last week’s buried year‐old child.
  • After the tempest cometh peace,
  • After long travail sweet repose;
  • These folded palms, these feet that cease
  • From any motion, are but shows
  • Of—what? What rest? How rest they? Where?
  • The generations naught declare.
page: 222
  • Dark grave, unto whose brink we come,
  • Drawn nearer by all nights and days;
  • Each after each, thy solemn gloom
  • We pierce with momentary gaze,
  • Then go, unwilling or content,
  • The way that all our fathers went.
  • Is there no voice or guiding hand
  • Arising from the awful void,
  • To say, “Fear not the silent land;
  • Would He make aught to be destroyed?
  • Would He? or can He? What know we
  • Of Him who is Infinity?
  • Strong Love, which taught us human love,
  • Helped us to follow through all spheres
  • Some soul that did sweet dead lips move,
  • Lived in dear eyes in smiles and tears,
  • Love—once so near our flesh allied,
  • That “Jesus wept” when Lazarus died;—
  • Eagle‐eyed Faith that can see God,
  • In worlds without and heart within;
  • In sorrow by the smart o’ the rod,
  • In guilt by the anguish of the sin;
  • In everything pure, holy, fair,
  • God saying to man’s soul, “I am there”;—
page: 223
  • These only, twin‐archangels, stand
  • Above the abyss of common doom,
  • These only stretch the tender hand
  • To us descending to the tomb,
  • Thus making it a bed of rest
  • With spices and with odors drest.
  • So, like one weary and worn, who sinks
  • To sleep beneath long faithful eyes,
  • Who asks no word of love, but drinks
  • The silence which is paradise—
  • We only cry—“Keep angelward,
  • And give us good rest, O good Lord!”
previous
next