The Chamber Over The Gate

Is it so far from thee     Thou canst no longer see,     In the Chamber over the Gate,     That old man desolate,     Weeping and wailing sore     For his son, who is no more?         O Absalom, my son!     Is it so long ago     That cry of human woe     From the walled city came,     Calling on his dear name,     That it has died away     In the distance of to-day?         O Absalom, my son!     There is no far or near,     There is neither there nor here,     There is neither soon nor late,     In that Chamber over the Gate,     Nor any long ago     To that cry of human woe,         O Absalom, my son!     From the ages that are past     The voice sounds like a blast,     Over seas that wreck and drown,     Over tumult of traffic and town;     And from ages yet to be     Come the echoes back to me,         O Absalom, my son!     Somewhere at every hour     The watchman on the tower     Looks forth, and sees the fleet     Approach of the hurrying feet     Of messengers, that bear     The tidings of despair.         O Absalom, my son!     He goes forth from the door     Who shall return no more.     With him our joy departs;     The light goes out in our hearts;     In the Chamber over the Gate     We sit disconsolate.         O Absalom, my son!     That 't is a common grief     Bringeth but slight relief;     Ours is the bitterest loss,     Ours is the heaviest cross;     And forever the cry will be     "Would God I had died for thee,         O Absalom, my son!"