 | Songs of two centuries |  |
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THE PASSING OF THE MOTHER.
Mary A. Bickerdyke—War-Nurse.
Through the wide reach of Eternity's portals
Marched an unbroken procession of mortals:
Held through the clouds and the sunlight their way—
Those who had “died” on that day.
Each was to each near as sister or brother;
Pauper and millionaire jostled each other;
Jewels and money the dying might save;
Beauty was left in the grave.
Marched an unbroken procession of mortals:
Held through the clouds and the sunlight their way—
Those who had “died” on that day.
Each was to each near as sister or brother;
Pauper and millionaire jostled each other;
Jewels and money the dying might save;
Beauty was left in the grave.
Out of Death's mystery-moment of slumber,
Warriors and potentates came, without number.
Many the friends of the past they were meeting!
But there was heard no tumultuous greeting,
Till came a woman, with days fully told—
Wrinkled and weary and old.
Warriors and potentates came, without number.
Many the friends of the past they were meeting!
But there was heard no tumultuous greeting,
Till came a woman, with days fully told—
Wrinkled and weary and old.
Then the great news traversed all of those regions;
Then came a rally of swift-footed legions;
Making with plaudits the path all aglow,
Down which this woman must go.
Ne'er were the honors she lingered between,
Paid to a king or a queen!
Not with grim tools of the death-dealing labor;
Not with presenting of musket or saber;
But by an edge of the fame-bordered street,
Knelt every man at her feet.
Then came a rally of swift-footed legions;
Making with plaudits the path all aglow,
Down which this woman must go.
Ne'er were the honors she lingered between,
Paid to a king or a queen!
Not with grim tools of the death-dealing labor;
Not with presenting of musket or saber;
But by an edge of the fame-bordered street,
Knelt every man at her feet.
Then said those soldiers, in accents caressing,
“Mother, O Mother, your glance and your blessing:
Well may that luxury thrill with delight—
Make even Heaven more bright!”
Then said the woman, “My heroes, 'tis done:
Rise to your feet, every one.
Nought in my work was of grandeur or beauty:
Love was my countersign—Help was my duty.”
“Mother, O Mother, your glance and your blessing:
Well may that luxury thrill with delight—
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Then said the woman, “My heroes, 'tis done:
Rise to your feet, every one.
Nought in my work was of grandeur or beauty:
Love was my countersign—Help was my duty.”
Then said a soldier, “I lay on a meadow,
Scythed by fierce battle—then garnered in shadow.
Night's gloomy sepulchre gathered around me;
Man had deserted and God had not found me.
‘Let the dead rest’, said my comrades, in sorrow:
‘Then to Earth's arms we will give them tomorrow.’
And the dead rested: but I, partly slain,
Watched with my murderous pain.
Then my weak lips could not utter a word—
Only a groan; but 'twas heard!
Heard by one heart through the sulphurous distance—
Heart that was toiling for others' existence.
How like a star to my life's eager craving,
Looked the rude lantern she bore to my saving;
How she brought back to me Earth's vanished charms—
Lifting me there in her arms!
Tell me, O comrades: and is it not meet
That I should bow at her feet?”
Scythed by fierce battle—then garnered in shadow.
Night's gloomy sepulchre gathered around me;
Man had deserted and God had not found me.
‘Let the dead rest’, said my comrades, in sorrow:
‘Then to Earth's arms we will give them tomorrow.’
And the dead rested: but I, partly slain,
Watched with my murderous pain.
Then my weak lips could not utter a word—
Only a groan; but 'twas heard!
Heard by one heart through the sulphurous distance—
Heart that was toiling for others' existence.
How like a star to my life's eager craving,
Looked the rude lantern she bore to my saving;
How she brought back to me Earth's vanished charms—
Lifting me there in her arms!
Tell me, O comrades: and is it not meet
That I should bow at her feet?”
Then said a soldier, “The North-wind was sweeping
Down through the Sun-land: its white blades were reaping
Harvests of death; and the torn tents were falling
In that new tempest of bleakness appalling.
Men full of deeds fit for Spartan or Roman
Shrank from the charge of our frost-crested foeman
Bidding defiance to sword and to gun—
Scorning the earth and the sun.
‘Moscow-retreat’, thought both timid and brave—
‘Not into France—but the grave.’
Oh, but all valor had proved unavailing,
But for our Mother's swift courage unfailing!
Joan of Arc 'gainst this enemy pallid,
Gaily her hosts of resistance she rallied.
Soon from her warm heart so dauntless though tender,
Sprang a huge campfire unrivalled in splendor:
Even the ramparts she, fearless of blame,
Stole, for the life-giving flame.
‘Under arrest’ for that glorious robbing,
Still was her great soul with sympathy throbbing;
Convict of red-tape, proud pris'ner heroic,
Heart of a Christian and nerves of a Stoic,
Hailed she the conflict, and entered upon it:
Fought a campaign 'gainst Destruction—and won it;
Charged with her might on the cohorts of Grief—
Gave every suf'ring relief.
Many a poor boy, in homesickness dumb,
Felt that his mother had come!—
We who had died had she reckoned without us,
There in those graves that were freezing about us,
But for the hardship and blame that she bore,
Who would have done for us more?
What though she signal me frowns as I tell it:
Who but our God could excel it?”
Down through the Sun-land: its white blades were reaping
Harvests of death; and the torn tents were falling
In that new tempest of bleakness appalling.
Men full of deeds fit for Spartan or Roman
Shrank from the charge of our frost-crested foeman
Bidding defiance to sword and to gun—
Scorning the earth and the sun.
‘Moscow-retreat’, thought both timid and brave—
‘Not into France—but the grave.’
Oh, but all valor had proved unavailing,
But for our Mother's swift courage unfailing!
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Gaily her hosts of resistance she rallied.
Soon from her warm heart so dauntless though tender,
Sprang a huge campfire unrivalled in splendor:
Even the ramparts she, fearless of blame,
Stole, for the life-giving flame.
‘Under arrest’ for that glorious robbing,
Still was her great soul with sympathy throbbing;
Convict of red-tape, proud pris'ner heroic,
Heart of a Christian and nerves of a Stoic,
Hailed she the conflict, and entered upon it:
Fought a campaign 'gainst Destruction—and won it;
Charged with her might on the cohorts of Grief—
Gave every suf'ring relief.
Many a poor boy, in homesickness dumb,
Felt that his mother had come!—
We who had died had she reckoned without us,
There in those graves that were freezing about us,
But for the hardship and blame that she bore,
Who would have done for us more?
What though she signal me frowns as I tell it:
Who but our God could excel it?”
Then said a soldier, “My life-blood was flowing;
Into the future this sad soul was going.
Darkest of robes my crushed spirit was wearing!
What had I left, but eternal despairing?
Then to the scene this evangelist brought
Prayers that my parents had taught;
Then with sweet hymns she my anguish beguiled—
Hymns I had loved when a child.
Then did this saint, with fond eyes bending o'er,
Sing of the sweet ‘Shining Shore’;
Then came the Land of the Blest to my seeing;
Then a bright future pervaded my being;
Then did the pangs of my pain cease to cumber;
Then did I glide into blisses of slumber.
Slept with that soul-thrilling voice in my ear,
Full of enchantment and cheer;
Slept till I journeyed from Night into Day,
Dreaming that song all the way.
So did she soothe me as could but one other—
Sanctified Sister and Mother!”
Into the future this sad soul was going.
Darkest of robes my crushed spirit was wearing!
What had I left, but eternal despairing?
Then to the scene this evangelist brought
Prayers that my parents had taught;
Then with sweet hymns she my anguish beguiled—
Hymns I had loved when a child.
Then did this saint, with fond eyes bending o'er,
Sing of the sweet ‘Shining Shore’;
Then came the Land of the Blest to my seeing;
Then a bright future pervaded my being;
Then did the pangs of my pain cease to cumber;
Then did I glide into blisses of slumber.
Slept with that soul-thrilling voice in my ear,
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Slept till I journeyed from Night into Day,
Dreaming that song all the way.
So did she soothe me as could but one other—
Sanctified Sister and Mother!”
Then came the Christ of Humanity: saying,
“Daughter, thy crown; I, my Father obeying,
Gladly this token of glory bring nigh,
Gleaming with stars of the sky.
Stars of all magnitudes flash, as thou waitest:
All hast thou blessed—from the least to the greatest.”
Then said the woman, “O Master of Mission!
Hear thee, I pray thee, a humble petition:
Let me work on, my vocation pursuing:
Nought have I done to what yet needs the doing.
Stow this sweet gift in some worthier place,
While I still toil for my race!”
“Daughter, thy crown; I, my Father obeying,
Gladly this token of glory bring nigh,
Gleaming with stars of the sky.
Stars of all magnitudes flash, as thou waitest:
All hast thou blessed—from the least to the greatest.”
Then said the woman, “O Master of Mission!
Hear thee, I pray thee, a humble petition:
Let me work on, my vocation pursuing:
Nought have I done to what yet needs the doing.
Stow this sweet gift in some worthier place,
While I still toil for my race!”
| Songs of two centuries | |