In Memoriam.
BY
WILLIAM STEWARD
("WILL.")
"They are love's last gifts, bring ye flowers, pale flowers."—Mrs. Hemans.
I stand alone beside the silent mound,
The dull, cold earth beneath me, and the sky
Dark blue o'er head.—The spacious hills around
Nor charms the gaze of my grief wearied eye;
Sad, tired, forlorn, I sink upon the sod,
With rev'rent awe and mournful bareéd head,
I try to raise my thoughts to mother's God,
And with affection contemplate the dead.
I am a boy again—a lisping child,
With sunny face and merry prattling tongue;
I totter forth with joyous fancy wild,
And sing the lullaby we last night sung;
My young heart bounds with radiant happiness
As some new toy my angel-mother gives,
Or stoops to pat my head with sweet caress,
And my glad lips her cherished kiss receives.
Now I am grown to boyhoods first estate;
And thorns of life 'gin prick me one by one,—
Now aspiration's hopes, my thoughts elate,
And now by disappointments am cast down;
The daily avocations of the farm
Bring each in turn their elements of woe,
But mother's heart, its beatings always warm,
Is a sure haven where I ever go.
Th' unruly horse my youthful strength o'erpowers,
Or vicious cattle wear my patience bare,
Each is recounted of in evening hours,
In boyhood's confidence in mother's ear,—
Ah! we six childish ones with each our cares—
Bespeak we each ones place, in mother's heart,
Where we each pour our trouble, hopes and fears,
And mother, tenderly takes each one's part.
And at th' appointed hour the father comes;
His day's work o'er, prompt, day and day the same,
Then happiest ours of all the happy homes
Our lessons coning, or with sportive game,—
Oh would those days of childhood linger still—
The ev'ning game prolong—e'en daily task
Is welcomed linger! youthful years ye will
Be vanished and your stay in vain we ask!
Too soon with quickning steps the eager days
Bring manhood's strength—our childhood all outgrown
And then for life we take our sep'rate ways,
Each son and daughter choose a course their own;
Too soon, alas! the shadowy curtain falls
And sorrows, real, begin to cast their gloam,
Our consciences' tickle with increasing galls
As each new silv'ry hair comes to our home.
Dear cherished ones, thy load we now wish lighter,
Since we are grown, and see thy waning years,
Thy daily walks we would see fair and brighter,
But ev'ry effort still augments thy cares;
Affliction's hand, spares not the burdened mother,
But suff'rings, long, great, are thy constant lot;
Nor stintless hand divides it with another
Who'd die for thee and for thee be forgot.
Grown, stalwart boys and buxome girls we all are
And fain would bring renown to thy dear name—
Pride to thy heart, and comfort to thy leisure
By some good noble deeds, and worthy fame,
Alas, how short we've come! When thou complaisant
Looked on expectant for some virtuous act,
How Self appeared like some fierce tigress couchant,
And we with evil motive seemed impact!
And thou art gone! Well do I remember
Our childhood's days again—I'd live them o'er—
When chilly blasts of sleeting, bleak December
Kept us, long ev'nings, close within the door,
We stories begged and then some Bible tale—
Of David's valor, or Saul's treachery
Of Moses meekness or Methus'lah hale—
Of Abraham's faith or Esau's jealousy.
Of Enoch's constancy in serving God,
Of Joseph, sold a slave; of Egypt's kings,
Of Pharaoh's plagues, and Moses' wond'rous rod,
And of the Psalms which ev'ry Christian sings,
Of John the Baptist, Christ the living Word
Which was made flesh, and came and dwelt with men,
Who was, and is, and shall be, God the Lord;
Of His disciples, Holy ones, and then
The Revelation, and the last Great Day,
Each in its turn, in loving tones, was given
And thus our mother thought to point the way
With truthful finger, to the gates of Heaven;
The great "Old Bible" then across her knee
Was tender laid,—I see her sparkling eye,—
With trem'lous voice she read the "Verily"
And hushed, we listen'd, 'till no eye was dry.
Then, kneeling, when the Word had well been read
In very confidence she talked with God,
And then with happy tears we went to bed,
Now Mother lies beneath the silent sod!
And thus, when father was away at toil
In fact'ry's buzz, his cherished ones to keep,
Giving his strength for them, in hot turmoil,
We, his dear ones, were wrapped in blissful sleep.
But she is gone! we've laid her down to rest
In a soft bed of satin, white and pure
We spread her o'er white rose buds on her breast,
And bade her soul, waft to the better shore!
Where mansions fair unnumbered stand prepared
For her and hers—her Lord had told her so
His Fathers house, to her he said, was shared
By those who loved as she had loved below.
And would I grieve? Yes, many a poisoned dart
Have I with wilful hand flung straight at thee,
Yet stood aghast, when it did prick thy heart,
I mourn in silence, now—thou'rt gone from me;
Father, and we, the six yet still are here
And for thy sake will serve each others good—
Grief answers grief, now comes the ready tear,
To bring thee back we'd weep thee tears of blood;
And would we weep for thee to call thee hence?
Again instate thee in this world of woe,
Would we rebel and murmur—dread offence—
Against the God whose mandate bade thee go?
Nay, wearied one, fly to thy hav'n of rest,
God wills it so; content we are to be
Without thee here, thou dwell'st among the blest
Forever safe in realms prepared for thee.