 | Poems |  |
169
LAST WORDS.
“Come to me when my soul
Hath but a few dim hours to linger here;
When earthly chains are as a shrivelled scroll,
Oh! let me feel thy presence!—be but near!
Hath but a few dim hours to linger here;
When earthly chains are as a shrivelled scroll,
Oh! let me feel thy presence!—be but near!
“That I may look once more,
Into thine eyes that never changed for me;
That I may speak to thee of that bright shore,
Where, with our treasures, we have yearned to be.”
Into thine eyes that never changed for me;
That I may speak to thee of that bright shore,
Where, with our treasures, we have yearned to be.”
Come to me, sweetest sister! let me gaze
Once more on that dear face, ere sight desert
These dim, fast failing eyes, and feel again,
For the last time, the pressure of thine hand,
That with its gentle firmness hath sustain'd
My drooping head so oft! . . . . . .
Once more on that dear face, ere sight desert
These dim, fast failing eyes, and feel again,
For the last time, the pressure of thine hand,
That with its gentle firmness hath sustain'd
My drooping head so oft! . . . . . .
. . . . . . . Thy cheek is pale
My constant friend, far paler than of old,
And lonely watching thro' the long night hours,
By a sick brother's bed, with nought to cheer,
Save thine own true affection, and a hope
Too faint to live, has left its pallid trace
Upon the once pure whiteness of thy brow.
Where is the light, my sister, that was wont
To shine from those soft eyes in days gone by?
And the quick joyous tones that made thy voice
So like a bird's in sweetness!—Both are gone!
Both offered up with many a precious gift,
Ne'er to be won again—unbroken health,
Youth's freshness, and its store of buoyant hopes,
On the pure altar of a sister's love!
My blessed one! I may not hope to pay
The mighty debt—oh! thou hast been to me
Friend, parent, all! with an untiring love
Guiding, consoling, soothing, and when pain
Hath wrung from my rude lips reproachful words,
Seeking with all thy gentle eloquence,
And meek imploring looks, to win me back
To the true path again.—This hast thou done,
This been, my own true sister, but the time
Of parting is at hand, and I must bid
A last fond farewell to the only tie
That binds me still to earth.—Nay, do not weep,
Dear one,—to me the thought hath nought but joy;
I am as one, who, having long endured
Captivity and chains, till his worn heart
Has sicken'd with vain longings, looks on Death,
Not fearfully, but with a welcoming smile.—
Weep not for me! soon, soon the weary one
Will be at rest, his throbbing pulses stilled,
His spirit free.—E'en now methinks I hear
Sounds that are not of earth, the solemn tones
Of our home's parted band, that seem to call
Their child away.—Oh! do not mourn beloved,
Too long and bitterly when I am gone,
And doubt not we shall meet in that bright world,
Beyond the grave.—Again those angel sounds,
Float on the air, like melodies of home,
Faint, yet how sweet—The world is growing dim—
I see but thee, my sister—I but feel
Thy tears upon my face—Hark! 'twas her voice,
Our mother's—heard you not its murmur'd tones?—
It summons me!—sister, one parting kiss—
Farewell! farewell!
My constant friend, far paler than of old,
170
By a sick brother's bed, with nought to cheer,
Save thine own true affection, and a hope
Too faint to live, has left its pallid trace
Upon the once pure whiteness of thy brow.
Where is the light, my sister, that was wont
To shine from those soft eyes in days gone by?
And the quick joyous tones that made thy voice
So like a bird's in sweetness!—Both are gone!
Both offered up with many a precious gift,
Ne'er to be won again—unbroken health,
Youth's freshness, and its store of buoyant hopes,
On the pure altar of a sister's love!
My blessed one! I may not hope to pay
The mighty debt—oh! thou hast been to me
Friend, parent, all! with an untiring love
Guiding, consoling, soothing, and when pain
Hath wrung from my rude lips reproachful words,
Seeking with all thy gentle eloquence,
And meek imploring looks, to win me back
171
This been, my own true sister, but the time
Of parting is at hand, and I must bid
A last fond farewell to the only tie
That binds me still to earth.—Nay, do not weep,
Dear one,—to me the thought hath nought but joy;
I am as one, who, having long endured
Captivity and chains, till his worn heart
Has sicken'd with vain longings, looks on Death,
Not fearfully, but with a welcoming smile.—
Weep not for me! soon, soon the weary one
Will be at rest, his throbbing pulses stilled,
His spirit free.—E'en now methinks I hear
Sounds that are not of earth, the solemn tones
Of our home's parted band, that seem to call
Their child away.—Oh! do not mourn beloved,
Too long and bitterly when I am gone,
And doubt not we shall meet in that bright world,
Beyond the grave.—Again those angel sounds,
Float on the air, like melodies of home,
172
I see but thee, my sister—I but feel
Thy tears upon my face—Hark! 'twas her voice,
Our mother's—heard you not its murmur'd tones?—
It summons me!—sister, one parting kiss—
Farewell! farewell!
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