Constance Poem by Grace Greenwood

THE tropic stars are looking down
Upon the midnight deep;
The wind blows fresh, as on our course
Right gallantly we sweep;
For thee I wake, O fair beloved!
Far o'er the flashing foam,
My fears, my hopes, my tender thoughts,
Like swift-winged birds, fly home!
Constance, my bride,
My heart's dear pride,
Say, is it well with thee?

I wake from dreams that some dread ill
Hath breathed upon thy bloom, —
That round thy ways are failing fast
The cold shades of the tomb;
I wake to stretch my fond arms forth,
In grief and sudden fear;
To weep, to call upon thy name,
Yet know thou canst not hear!
Constance, my bride,
My heart's dear pride,
Say, is it well with thee?

I wake to traverse, step by step,
The sweet paths of our past,
Where the throb of bliss first woke our hearts,
And the tide of life ran fast;
When I sunned me, through enchanted days,
In thy beauty's splendid light;
When thy love was with me in my sleep,
And hallowed all the night.
Constance, my bride,
My heart's dear pride,
Say, is it well with thee?

O, life is full, O, life is deep,
O, earth is fair to see,
A beautiful and blessed place,
For it holdeth love and thee!
My faith in heaven and in thy truth
Are one for evermore;
I read thy pure soul, and believe, —
I love thee and adore.
Constance, my bride,
My heart's dear pride,
Say, is it well with thee?

The beauty of life's morning-time,
The day's full bloom and light,
Art thou to me; and when, at last,
Comes on the long, chill night,
O, I will crown me with thy love,
And arm me with thy faith,
Breathe out thy name from my deep heart,
And thus go down to death!
Constance, my bride,
My heart's dear pride,
Say, is it well with thee?

I know my soul's wild longings
Will seek thee in thy rest,
Where thou liest with a thought of me
Close folded to thy breast.
And I will fear no more, — thou dwell'st
In the angels' gentle care,
And the ear of Heaven low bendeth
To the meek voice of thy prayer.
Constance, my bride,
My heart's dear pride,
I know 't is well with thee!