 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
THE MOTHER'S SOLACE.
[_]
When the Stoic philosopher was informed of the death of his beloved son, he calmly replied, “I always knew that he was mortal;” but how much more reason has a Christian parent to be resigned under such an affliction, when she can look on the lifeless form of her child, and in the language of undoubting faith, exclaim, “I know that this mortal shall put on immortality.”
I knew that thou wert mortal! aye, my heart
Thrilled with vague terror, even while the beams
Of thy soft, loving eyes could still impart
A joy as sinless as thine own pure dreams;
Thou wert too like a thing of heavenly birth
To tarry long upon this darkened earth.
Thrilled with vague terror, even while the beams
Of thy soft, loving eyes could still impart
A joy as sinless as thine own pure dreams;
Thou wert too like a thing of heavenly birth
To tarry long upon this darkened earth.
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I knew that thou wert mortal; the blue vein
Whose delicate tracery adorned thy brow,
I knew might bear the rushing tide of pain,
Instead of life's pure current, in its flow,
I knew disease thy rosy cheek might pale,
And the hour come when flesh and heart should fail.
Whose delicate tracery adorned thy brow,
I knew might bear the rushing tide of pain,
Instead of life's pure current, in its flow,
I knew disease thy rosy cheek might pale,
And the hour come when flesh and heart should fail.
I knew that thou wert mortal; yet my tears
Have flowed in rivers o'er thy lowly bed;
The joys of life, the hopes of coming years,
Were crushed when thou wert numbered with the dead,
And life itself must cease ere I forget
The bitter yearnings of my vain regret.
Have flowed in rivers o'er thy lowly bed;
The joys of life, the hopes of coming years,
Were crushed when thou wert numbered with the dead,
And life itself must cease ere I forget
The bitter yearnings of my vain regret.
I knew that thou wert mortal; but the God
Who filled with deathless love a mother's heart,
Meant not that she should kiss the chastening rod
Without one feeling of its anguished smart.
Can it be sin to bow the mourning head
When even Jesus wept o'er Lazarus dead?
Who filled with deathless love a mother's heart,
Meant not that she should kiss the chastening rod
Without one feeling of its anguished smart.
Can it be sin to bow the mourning head
When even Jesus wept o'er Lazarus dead?
I knew that thou wert mortal; but can naught
Bring solace to the soul in sorrow's hour?
Is there not consolation in the thought
That Christ has robbed the grave of half its power?
Not without hope, beloved one, do I weep,
Thou yet shalt waken from thy dreamless sleep.
Bring solace to the soul in sorrow's hour?
Is there not consolation in the thought
That Christ has robbed the grave of half its power?
Not without hope, beloved one, do I weep,
Thou yet shalt waken from thy dreamless sleep.
I knew that thou wert mortal; but the bright
And glorious beauty of thine earthly face
Would seem all dim beside the radiant light
Which crowns thy spirit now with cherub grace:
I know thee now immortal,—and I trust
To meet thee yet again, though dust return to dust.
And glorious beauty of thine earthly face
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Which crowns thy spirit now with cherub grace:
I know thee now immortal,—and I trust
To meet thee yet again, though dust return to dust.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |