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!"