 | Poems |  |
141
THY WILL BE DONE!
Thy will be done! how hard a thing to say
When sickness ushers in death's dreary knell;
When eyes, that lately sparkled bright and gay,
Wander around with dimly conscious ray,
To some familiar face, to bid farewell!
When sickness ushers in death's dreary knell;
When eyes, that lately sparkled bright and gay,
Wander around with dimly conscious ray,
To some familiar face, to bid farewell!
Thy will be done!—the falt'ring lips deny
A passage to the tones is yet unheard;
The sob convulsed, the raised and swimming eye
Seem as appealing to their God on high
For power to breathe the yet imperfect word.
A passage to the tones is yet unheard;
The sob convulsed, the raised and swimming eye
Seem as appealing to their God on high
For power to breathe the yet imperfect word.
Orphan! who watches by the silent tomb
Where those who gave thee life all coldly sleep;
Or thou, who sittest in thy desolate home,
Calling to those beloved who cannot come,
And, thinking o'er thy loneliness, dost weep!
Where those who gave thee life all coldly sleep;
Or thou, who sittest in thy desolate home,
Calling to those beloved who cannot come,
And, thinking o'er thy loneliness, dost weep!
142
Widow! who musest over by-gone years
Of life, and love, and happiness with him
Who shared thy joys and sorrows, hopes and fears,
Who now are left to shed unnoticed tears,
Till thy fair cheek is wan, and eyes grow dim!
Of life, and love, and happiness with him
Who shared thy joys and sorrows, hopes and fears,
Who now are left to shed unnoticed tears,
Till thy fair cheek is wan, and eyes grow dim!
Husband! who dreamest of thy gentle wife,
And still in fancy see'st her rosy smile
Brightening a world of bitterness and strife;
Who from the lonely future of thy life
Turnest, in dreariness, to weep the while!
And still in fancy see'st her rosy smile
Brightening a world of bitterness and strife;
Who from the lonely future of thy life
Turnest, in dreariness, to weep the while!
Mother! whose prayers could not avail to save
Him whom thou lovedst most, thy blue-eyed boy!
Who with a bitter agony dost rave
To the wild winds that fan his early grave,
And dashedst from thy lips the cup of joy!
Him whom thou lovedst most, thy blue-eyed boy!
Who with a bitter agony dost rave
To the wild winds that fan his early grave,
And dashedst from thy lips the cup of joy!
And thou! not widowed, yet bereaved one,
Who, buried in thy tearless, mute despair,
Roamest a desert world alone—alone,
To seek him out who from thine eyes is gone,
Scarce able to believe he is not there!
Who, buried in thy tearless, mute despair,
Roamest a desert world alone—alone,
To seek him out who from thine eyes is gone,
Scarce able to believe he is not there!
Mourners! who linger in a world of woe,
Each bowing 'neath his separate load of grief,
Turn from the silent tomb; and kneeling low
Before that throne at which the angels bow,
Invoke a God of mercy for relief!
Each bowing 'neath his separate load of grief,
Turn from the silent tomb; and kneeling low
Before that throne at which the angels bow,
Invoke a God of mercy for relief!
143
Pray that ye too may journey, when ye die,
To that far world where blessed souls are gone;
And, through the gathering sob of agony,
Raise, with a voice resigned, the humble cry,
“Father—Creator—Lord! thy will be done!”
To that far world where blessed souls are gone;
And, through the gathering sob of agony,
Raise, with a voice resigned, the humble cry,
“Father—Creator—Lord! thy will be done!”
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