The Two Brothers, and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thou speakest of the fear of death, its ghastliness and gloom,
And dreary shadows flung across the portals of the tomb;
Thou sayest that the best of men must tremble like the grass,
When from the loved and lovely earth to unknown worlds they pass:
Thou picturest the love of home, the light of childhood's sky,
And askest, Who could leave such things with no heart-breaking sigh?

My heart was pain'd; and oft I thought, Can this be true of those
Who have on Jesus cast the guilt and burden of their woes?—

215

Till, as I mused, the truths of God, like beacon-fires at night,
Gleam'd forth from Scripture's vivid page upon my aching sight:—
“I know that my Redeemer lives; and, though my flesh must die,
By dying He shall swallow up the grave in victory.
Ay, in the shadowy vale of death no evil will I fear,
For Thou art with me, Thou, my God, to animate and cheer.”

So sang the patriarchs of old, before the veil was riven.
Which from the pilgrim fathers hid the open gate of heaven:
But hark, what clearer tidings now our songs of triumph swell!
“Christ Jesus hath abolish'd death, and holds the keys of hell;
He lives, and whoso trusts in Him shall never, never die;
He lives,—this mortal shall be clothed with immortality.
The portals of the tomb are burst; ye ransom'd captives, sing,
Where is thy victory, O Grave? where, darksome Death thy sting?”

216

No wild dreams these,—I speak of things that oftentimes have been;
Of parting words that I have heard, and death-beds I have seen;
Of a long-loved father, circled by his children and his wife,
With every joy to gladden earth, and bind him unto life,
Who calmly said, “My children must not stay me from my rest;
My work is finish'd, and I long to sleep on Jesus' breast;
Death cannot part me from His love—Lord Jesu, it is Thou—
I have no fear, my children; for my Lord is with me now.”

And gentle girls, too, have I seen, who seem'd for earth too frail,
Tread with a firm confiding step, adown that lonesome vale;
Ay, and on childhood's pallid lip have words of triumph play'd,
And tiny fingers, clasp'd in death, told, “I am not afraid.”
But why speak on of scenes like these, when every heart must know
Some parent, partner, brother, child, who trembled not to go

217

Where Jesus' steps had gone before, and He himself is nigh,
Whispering above those boisterous waves, “Fear nothing, it is I”?

Ours is the grief, who still are left in this far wilderness,
Which will at times, now they are gone, seem blank and comfortless.
For moments spent with loving hearts are breezes from the hills,
And the balm of Christian brotherhood like Eden's dew distils:
And we whose footsteps and whose hearts so often fail and faint,
Seem ill to spare the cheering voice of one departed saint.

But oh, we sorrow not like those whom no bright hopes sustain,
For them who sleep in Jesus, God will with Him bring again.
Love craves the presence and the sight of all its well-beloved,
And therefore weep we in the homes whence they are far removed;

218

Love craves the presence and the sight of each beloved one,
And therefore Jesus spake the word which caught them to His throne:—
“Father, I will that all my own, which Thou hast granted Me,
Be with Me where I am to share my glory's bliss with Thee.”

Thus heaven is gathering, one by one, in its capacious breast,
All that is pure and permanent, and beautiful and blest;
The family is scatter'd yet, though of one home and heart,
Part militant in earthly gloom, in heavenly glory part.
But who can speak the rapture, when the circle is complete,
And all the children sunder'd now around one Father meet?
One fold, one Shepherd, one employ, one everlasting home:
“Lo! I come quickly.” “Even so, Amen! Lord Jesu, come!”

1851.