Out of the silences wake me a song, Beautiful, sad, and soft, and low; Let the loveliest music sound along, And wing each note with a wail of woe: Dim and drear As hope's last tear; Out of the silences wake me a hymn, Whose sounds are like shadows soft and dim. Out of the stillness in your heart -- A thousand songs are sleeping there -- Wake me a song, thou child of art! The song of a hope in a last despair: Dark and low, A chant of woe; Out of the stillness, tone by tone, Cold as a snowflake, low as a moan. Out of the darkness flash me a song, Brightly dark and darkly bright; Let it sweep as a lone star sweeps along The mystical shadows of the night: Sing it sweet; Where nothing is drear, or dark, or dim, And earth-song soars into heavenly hymn. In Memoriam (David J. Ryan, C.S.A.) Thou art sleeping, brother, sleeping In thy lonely battle grave; Shadows o'er the past are creeping, Death, the reaper, still is reaping, Years have swept, and years are sweeping Many a memory from my keeping, But I'm waiting still, and weeping For my beautiful and brave. When the battle songs were chanted, And war's stirring tocsin pealed, By those songs thy heart was haunted, And thy spirit, proud, undaunted, Clamored wildly -- wildly panted: "Mother! let my wish be granted; I will ne'er be mocked and taunted That I fear to meet our vaunted Foemen on the bloody field. "They are thronging, mother! thronging, To a thousand fields of fame; Let me go -- 'tis wrong, and wronging God and thee to crush this longing; On the muster-roll of glory, In my country's future story, On the field of battle gory I must consecrate my name. "Mother! gird my sword around me, Kiss thy soldier-boy `good-bye.'" In her arms she wildly wound thee, To thy birth-land's cause she bound thee, With fond prayers and blessings crowned thee, And she sobbed: "When foes surround thee, If you fall, I'll know they found thee Where the bravest love to die." At the altar of their nation, Stood that mother and her son, He, the victim of oblation, Panting for his immolation; She, in priestess' holy station, Weeping words of consecration, While God smiled his approbation, Blessed the boy's self-abnegation, Cheered the mother's desolation, When the sacrifice was done. Forth, like many a noble other, Went he, whispering soft and low: "Good-bye -- pray for me, my mother; Sister! kiss me -- farewell, brother;" And he strove his grief to smother. Forth, with footsteps firm and fearless, And his parting gaze was tearless Though his heart was lone and cheerless, Thus from all he loved to go.