My Brother’s and Sister’s Grave
By Celia Hall
In a quiet recess of the old orchard – there
Where the branches sway softly o’erhead –
Breathing low sounds like the words of a prayer,
Or a friend’s subdued sobs for the dead –
A low mound of earth and a simple white stone
Mark the spot where long, long years ago
Two beautiful children, their pure spirits flown,
Were laid ’neath the drear winter’s snow.
My Brother, my Sister, yet unknown to me,
For my life has been given since then;
And only that little grave under the tree
Is left to remind me of them.
I sit there as night’s dusky shadows close round
And low music comes from the hills;
’Tis the mourning dove singing her nocturne, the sound
My soul with a deep solitude fills.
And then, like the notes of the dove’s evening hymn,
Emotions sweep over my soul,
And thoughts of the unfathomed future arise,
When the righteous shall all reach their goal,
When the grave at my feet shall open its door,
Unlocked by the Archangel’s key,
And ties so long severed be bound evermore,
My brother and sister to me!