 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
THE OLD MAN'S LAST WISH.
The Psalmist's span of life had past
Full twenty years or more,
And still the old man's footsteps tracked
The sands on Time's wide shore,
While Death's dark wave impatient swelled
Those footprints to sweep o'er.
Full twenty years or more,
And still the old man's footsteps tracked
The sands on Time's wide shore,
While Death's dark wave impatient swelled
Those footprints to sweep o'er.
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Aye, more than ninety years had shed
Their sunshine and their shade,
Since first upon that aged head
A father's hand was laid;
And now not one was left of all
With whom his childhood played.
Their sunshine and their shade,
Since first upon that aged head
A father's hand was laid;
And now not one was left of all
With whom his childhood played.
The memory of that far-off Past
Had faded from his sight;
The mists of many years had dimmed
Life's golden morning light;
And he was now content to watch
The closing shades of night.
Had faded from his sight;
The mists of many years had dimmed
Life's golden morning light;
And he was now content to watch
The closing shades of night.
But when at length Death's summons came,
While breath was ebbing fast,
Those veiling mists were rent atwain,
As by a mighty blast,
And once again the old man lived
In that long-hidden Past.
While breath was ebbing fast,
Those veiling mists were rent atwain,
As by a mighty blast,
And once again the old man lived
In that long-hidden Past.
Once more he saw the homestead where
His youth had passed away,
The trees that interlaced above
Its roof so old and gray,
The sheltering porch whose trellised vines
Gleamed in the sunset ray.
His youth had passed away,
The trees that interlaced above
Its roof so old and gray,
The sheltering porch whose trellised vines
Gleamed in the sunset ray.
And strange unto his failing eyes
The Present quickly grew,
The old familiar faces near
Now wore an aspect new,
And ever on his sinking heart
A gloom their coming threw.
The Present quickly grew,
The old familiar faces near
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And ever on his sinking heart
A gloom their coming threw.
“O take me home!” 'twas thus he spake
To all who gathered nigh;
“Beneath the roof where I was born,
There would I choose to die;
Then take me home! O take me home!”
Was still the old man's cry.
To all who gathered nigh;
“Beneath the roof where I was born,
There would I choose to die;
Then take me home! O take me home!”
Was still the old man's cry.
For memory's voice within his soul
Sang like a spirit-bird,
Until the tones of other years
Alone his cold ear heard;
And all his nature's time-sealed depths
Were by that music stirred.
Sang like a spirit-bird,
Until the tones of other years
Alone his cold ear heard;
And all his nature's time-sealed depths
Were by that music stirred.
And brighter still, and brighter grew
These visions to the last:
“O take me home!” was still his cry
While life was fleeting fast,
And with this prayer upon his lips
The weary spirit passed.
These visions to the last:
“O take me home!” was still his cry
While life was fleeting fast,
And with this prayer upon his lips
The weary spirit passed.
When on the grave's dark verge at last
The time-worn body lies,
And visions of a brighter world
Float past the glazing eyes,
O! who can tell what shape may take
These dreams of paradise?
The time-worn body lies,
And visions of a brighter world
Float past the glazing eyes,
O! who can tell what shape may take
These dreams of paradise?
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Still to the struggling spirit clings
The heavy weight of clay;
It hath not yet put on its wings
To soar from earth away;
What marvel if its visions wear
The glory of youth's day,
And life's bright morning-star appears
Like heaven's first golden ray?
The heavy weight of clay;
It hath not yet put on its wings
To soar from earth away;
What marvel if its visions wear
The glory of youth's day,
And life's bright morning-star appears
Like heaven's first golden ray?
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |