 | [The only sister to her only brother, in] The Sons of Temperance offering : for 1850 |  |
89
THE ONLY SISTER TO HER ONLY BROTHER.
Brother! while the breath of even
Cools the burning brow of heaven,
And the stealthy shadows, creeping
Softly as an infant's sleeping,
Seem but like the brooding fancies
Which the poet's soul entrances,
When the outward world is turning
Dark beneath his spirit's burning,
Then I stand amid the shrouding
Memories on my vision crowding;
Then I see our sainted mother!
Thou art with me, too, my brother!
Cools the burning brow of heaven,
And the stealthy shadows, creeping
Softly as an infant's sleeping,
Seem but like the brooding fancies
Which the poet's soul entrances,
When the outward world is turning
Dark beneath his spirit's burning,
Then I stand amid the shrouding
Memories on my vision crowding;
Then I see our sainted mother!
Thou art with me, too, my brother!
Brother! would that I were near thee,
Whispering warmer words to cheer thee;
Happy as in cheerful childhood,
When we wandered through the wild wood,
Finding only pleasant places,
Filling all with fairy faces,
Sending on our songs before us,
Till the rocks returned the chorus,
Till the brook, our bourne of travel
With its wealth of glistening gravel,
Reached—of mines we asked none other;
O, how rich we were—my brother!
Whispering warmer words to cheer thee;
Happy as in cheerful childhood,
When we wandered through the wild wood,
Finding only pleasant places,
Filling all with fairy faces,
Sending on our songs before us,
Till the rocks returned the chorus,
Till the brook, our bourne of travel
With its wealth of glistening gravel,
Reached—of mines we asked none other;
O, how rich we were—my brother!
90
Brother! dost thou not remember,
Through one cloudy, cold December,
How we counted Christmas coming,
All its promised pleasures summing?
Softly—lest our mother's sleeping
Should be broken? Often creeping
'Neath the curtain's close enfolding,
And her sad, sweet face beholding
While she slumbered? Never dreaming,
When the blessed morn was beaming,
Heaven's bright dawn would wake our mother;
We be left alone, my brother!
Through one cloudy, cold December,
How we counted Christmas coming,
All its promised pleasures summing?
Softly—lest our mother's sleeping
Should be broken? Often creeping
'Neath the curtain's close enfolding,
And her sad, sweet face beholding
While she slumbered? Never dreaming,
When the blessed morn was beaming,
Heaven's bright dawn would wake our mother;
We be left alone, my brother!
Brother! as the past comes o'er me,
Holy visions float before me;
We are children still, and keeping
Watch beside our mother sleeping;
And her life of love and duty
Folds us with its heavenly beauty;
And her faith, like light shed downward,
Draws our faltering footsteps onward!
Orphans—though the world oppress thee,
And its wearing woes distress me,
Never, while we love each other
And are worthy of our mother,
Can we be unblessed, my brother!
Holy visions float before me;
We are children still, and keeping
Watch beside our mother sleeping;
And her life of love and duty
Folds us with its heavenly beauty;
And her faith, like light shed downward,
Draws our faltering footsteps onward!
Orphans—though the world oppress thee,
And its wearing woes distress me,
Never, while we love each other
And are worthy of our mother,
Can we be unblessed, my brother!
| [The only sister to her only brother, in] The Sons of Temperance offering : for 1850 | |