Monday Night May 11th 1846 / Domestic Peace by Anne Bronte
Why should such gloomy silence reign; And why is all the house so drear, When neither danger, sickness, pain, Nor death, nor want have entered here? We are as many as we were That other night, when all were gay, And full of hope, and free from care; Yet, is there something gone away.
The moon without as pure and calm Is shining as that night she shone; but now, to us she brings no balm, For something from our hearts is gone.
Something whose absence leaves a void, A cheerless want in every heart. Each feels the bliss of all destroyed And mourns the change - but each apart.
The fire is burning in the grate As redly as it used to burn, But still the hearth is desolate Till Mirth and Love with Peace return.
'Twas Peace that flowed from heart to heart With looks and smiles that spoke of Heaven, And gave us language to impart The blissful thoughts itself had given.
Sweet child of Heaven, and joy of earth! O, when will Man thy value learn? We rudely drove thee from our hearth, And vainly sigh for thy return.