 | Complete Poems of Frances E. W. Harper : |  |
206
“GONE TO GOD”
Finished now the weary throbbing,
Of a bosom calmed to rest;
Laid aside the heavy sorrows,
That for years upon it prest.
Of a bosom calmed to rest;
Laid aside the heavy sorrows,
That for years upon it prest.
All the thirst for pure affection,
All the hunger of the heart;
All the vain and tearful cryings,
All forever now depart.
All the hunger of the heart;
All the vain and tearful cryings,
All forever now depart.
Clasp the pale and faded fingers,
O'er the cold and lifeless form;
They shall never shrink and shiver,
Homeless in the dark and storm.
O'er the cold and lifeless form;
They shall never shrink and shiver,
Homeless in the dark and storm.
Press the death-weights calmly, gently,
O'er the eyelids in their sleep;
Tears shall never tremble from them,
They shall never wake to weep.
O'er the eyelids in their sleep;
Tears shall never tremble from them,
They shall never wake to weep.
Close the silent lips together,
Lips once parted with a sigh;
Through their sealed, moveless portals,
Ne'er shall float a bitter cry.
Lips once parted with a sigh;
Through their sealed, moveless portals,
Ne'er shall float a bitter cry.
Bring no bright and blooming flowers,
Let no mournful tears be shed,
Funeral flowers, tears of sorrow,
They are for the cherished dead.
Let no mournful tears be shed,
Funeral flowers, tears of sorrow,
They are for the cherished dead.
She has been a lonely wanderer,
Drifting on the world's highway;
Grasping with her woman's nature,
Feeble reeds to be her stay.
Drifting on the world's highway;
Grasping with her woman's nature,
Feeble reeds to be her stay.
207
God is witness to the anguish,
Of a heart that's all alone;
Floating blindly on life's current,
Only bound unto His throne.
Of a heart that's all alone;
Floating blindly on life's current,
Only bound unto His throne.
But o'er such, Death's solemn angel,
Broodeth with a sheltering wing;
Till the hopeless hand's grown weary,
Cease around earth's toys to cling.
Broodeth with a sheltering wing;
Till the hopeless hand's grown weary,
Cease around earth's toys to cling.
Then kind hands will clasp them gently,
On the still, unaching breast;
Softly treading by, they'll whisper,
Of the lone one gone to rest.
On the still, unaching breast;
Softly treading by, they'll whisper,
Of the lone one gone to rest.
| Complete Poems of Frances E. W. Harper : | |