 | Poems |  |
148
LINES
ON A YOUNG WOMAN, WHO, AFTER A SHORT AND WRETCHED MARRIAGE, WENT MAD AND DIED.
Weep not, ye dear ones! for I am at rest;
Short was the season of my misery,
'Tis past, and I am now among the blest,
The blest for evermore—oh weep not ye!
Short was the season of my misery,
'Tis past, and I am now among the blest,
The blest for evermore—oh weep not ye!
Remember how my happy childhood fled,
Made bright by your fond love and tender care;
Of the brief hours time numbered o'er my head
Many were those of joy—few of despair.
Made bright by your fond love and tender care;
Of the brief hours time numbered o'er my head
Many were those of joy—few of despair.
Think not of that sharp torture that is past—
Still I lay safe within my Father's arms,
Even through that dark eclipse He held me fast,
And bore me swiftly from all earthly harms.
Still I lay safe within my Father's arms,
Even through that dark eclipse He held me fast,
And bore me swiftly from all earthly harms.
I waged with woe no long-protracted strife,
Nor dragged o'er disappointment's flinty path
Year after year my bleeding feet; for Life
Struck me but once—and gave me o'er to Death.
Nor dragged o'er disappointment's flinty path
Year after year my bleeding feet; for Life
Struck me but once—and gave me o'er to Death.
149
Mine eyes were not put out by ceaseless tears
Blinding them hour by hour, and day by day;
The hideous vision of my future years
Scared them but once—and all was swept away.
Blinding them hour by hour, and day by day;
The hideous vision of my future years
Scared them but once—and all was swept away.
Happier than in my girlhood's early home,
Fairer than in the form that then I wore,
To God, my Father's mansions, am I come,
To dwell in peace and joy for evermore.
Fairer than in the form that then I wore,
To God, my Father's mansions, am I come,
To dwell in peace and joy for evermore.
So think of me as at His feet I stand,
Led hither through how short an agony,
How brief a task-hour in Time's labour land
For one who rests through all eternity.
Led hither through how short an agony,
How brief a task-hour in Time's labour land
For one who rests through all eternity.
And weep not, weep not! hither shall ye come,
Soon as our Father calls—and find the love
Whose precious root was in our mortal home,
Immortal blooming in the realms above.
Soon as our Father calls—and find the love
Whose precious root was in our mortal home,
Immortal blooming in the realms above.
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