In Memoriam.
THEY tell me she is dead, that we no more
Upon her quiet face can rest our eyes,
Yet long we for it, as a weary bird
Longs all in vain to rest upon a cloud
That heavenward floats. And yet there’s solace still
In musing on her faith so strong and pure,
That recognized, through pain, God’s every wish,
And dreaded not to taste death’s cup if so
By Him decreed.
I was not there to hold
Her hand; it chilled within the orphan’s palm
Until by angels clasp’d. I could not twine
The flowers she so much loved about her shroud,
Or speak a word of comfort to the friends
That sobbed, and kissed the lips grown strangely cold,
That never parted but to speak in praise
When others tried to censure; but my heart
Beats sad to-day the measures of my verse,
And tear-drops fall.
So falls the autumn rain
Upon her grave, and drifting are the leaves
Upon the mound that loving friends have raised
In memory of her, whose spirit rests
To-day with God.
