University of Virginia Library

He had his wish—they sent him not away;
So there upon his own poor bed he lay
Yet a few weeks, awaiting his release,
And there at last he closed his eyes in peace:
In Christian peace he yielded up his breath;
But oh! for him there was a sting in death—
His wife!—his little ones!—and they were seven,
All helpless infants. . . . But for trust in Heaven,
Trust in His word who sayeth, “Leave to me
Thy fatherless children,” great assuredly
The dying father's parting pang had been.
I saw the widow ere the closing scene,
The funeral, was over. There she sate
('Twas on a Sabbath morning), calm, sedate,
Composed, and neat, as she had ever been
On the Lord's Day, when I so oft had seen
Her and her husband, and their eldest three,
Hastening to church; and now prepared was she
And her seven orphans, all in decent show
Of humble mourning, that same path to go,
Following the father's coffin. They were there,
The little creatures! huddling round her chair,
Troubled and mute, with eyes upon her face
(Some tearful) fixed, and all as if to trace
Its meekly mournful meaning—all save he,
The youngest Innocent: upon her knee
He clambered up, and crowed with baby glee,
And stroked her face, and lisped his father's name.
Then might be seen, convulsive through her frame,
A universal shudder. Nor alone
Struck to her heart the call. A wailing moan
Among the elder orphans rose, and one—
The boy of whom his father was so proud—
Fell on his mother's neck, and wept aloud.
Her eyes were misty, but no tears she shed,
Kissing with quivering lips the boy's fair head,
As on her breast, the face concealed, it lay.
And then, to all around, who came to pay—
Neighbours and friends—to the respected dead
Their last sad tribute, some few words she said
Of thankfulness to each, and spoke of him
Calmly, while many an eye with tears grew dim.