 | Voices from the Lakes, and Other Poems |  |
125
SONNET. A DYING WISH.
“That is what I should like—serving continually. Oh, I trust
there will be work for me where I am going!”—Lady Augusta
Stanley.
They gathered round her on her dying bed,
Where she was placed death-stricken, where she lay
In pain and anguish, many a weary day,
After all hope of health had ever fled.
The tide of life was ebbing fast away,
Nor had she any wish on earth to stay;
To what God pleased at once she bowed her head,—
“His will, not mine, be done,” she meekly said;
She had not lived for self and selfish gain,
But for the sick, the troubled, and the poor;
Her hands had ministered to soothe their pain,
Her lips had gently taught them to endure;
It was her joy to comfort and sustain,
And staunch the bleeding wounds she could not cure.
| Voices from the Lakes, and Other Poems | |