Weep not, O world, more tales of woe For I have grief enough to bear Bundled on my back and go Remembering the few and fair
That I was privileged to know Who walk no more beside us here Excepting blessings they bestow When in the silence they appear
Or in our dreams to ebb and flow Beyond the consciousness of time. I hear their voices soft and low Like music or a perfect rhyme
Exhorting us to find the way, Lifting us from night to day; Through pain and loss this truth I know We are sons of light and towards the light we go.
Poems Undated (1727)
Home
Disciples
Narad
Share your feedback. Help us improve. Or ask a question.