O bring a wreath of summer flow'rs,
And twine it lightly round her brow;
How calmly pass these holy hours--
Mysterious death is with her now.His icy breath is on her cheek,
His dew is freezing on her brow;
Her eyes no more earth's shadows seek--
Eternity's before them now.She sees a glittering angel band,
On downy pinions floating by,
To waft her to the spirit land,
Beyond the blue etherial sky.And hears low music stealing by,--
From golden harps the concert rings;
Earth mingles in the melody
That rises, to the King of kings."Husband, I know I'm dying now,
Life's golden sands are waning fast;
Seal on my lips the parting kiss,--
It is the last one--yes, the last."Now bring to me our blue eyed boy,--
I'd gaze upon his face once more;
May he, kept from earth's alloy,
Meet me on yon blissful shore.""Mother, your love is pure and deep--
I know the fount will never dry;
But in its onward current keep,
Through a long eternity."Sister, I'm passing to the tomb,
When life's young morn is fair and bright;
And shrouded soon, my youthful bloom
Shall dreamless sleep in death's dark night."Dark, did I say--O, no, I see
The golden city full in view;
The pitying Saviour smiles on me,
And angel-bands conduct me through."Sweet as the carol of a bird,
Soft as the gentlest summer sigh,
When scarce one trembling leaf is stirr'd
My sinking pulses faint and die."And so death rested on her cheek,--
Lingering in "strange beauty there;"
That seraph smile a rapture speaks--
That earthly pleasures may not share.
Lines, Written in a Sick-Room, April 15, 1855.
O, fold my flowing curtains by,
I fain would catch the breath of spring,
And breathe its gentle, balmy sigh,
As soft it floats on silken wing.Lightly it fans my pallid cheek,
And cools the fever of my brow,
And seems of coming health to speak,
As soft it murmurs round me now.Oh, there are those in life's young morn,
Who, gazing forth with earnest eye,
Feel that spring's joyous, glad return,
Brings but to them the time to die.While I, a pilgrim, worn and gray,
Wearied with care, still linger on,
Life's path to tread, one little day,
Before the feverish race is run.On the great battle-field of life,
The warp of destiny is spread,
And countless millions in the strife,
Supply the woof with varied thread.O, there are some, with hearts of truth,
With courage bold, and daring high,
Whose texture scarce from early youth,
Presents one blemish to the eye.And there are those all steeped in crime,
Whose fabric is one constant stain;
Who fill up their appointed time,
With conduct vile, and lips profane.There are bright streaks of glowing hope,
And blackened shades of deep despair,--
All smiles of joy, all tears of grief,
Like rainbow dyes are blended there.Repentance, with her bitter tears,
Would wash some dismal crime away;
And Terror, arm'd with many fears,
Stands pointing to a future day.And Happiness, with sunny smile,
Weaves in her roses, rich and rare,
Love, Constancy and Truth, we find,
And trusting Faith, with humble prayer.Vain were the effort to portray
The varied shades life's scenes present;
But oh, how swift the shuttles play,
By every thought or action sent.And so each one is weaving fast
His little web of human life;--
Happy those, who find at last,
They have conquered in the strife.It matters not how short the warp,
If to the goal the object tend,
For, oh, we know, "That life is long
That answers life's great end."
Lines, Written in a Sick Room, July 20th, 1855.
The voice of "many waters"
Is murmuring on my ear,
And mingling in the mystic strains
A mother's voice I hear.
Two white rob'd cherub sisters
Stand harping by her side;
A brother in the concert joins,
Who erst in Jesus died.And other sainted spirits,
Who've pass'd from earth away,--
Stand wooing me to join their bands
In realms of endless day.
The flow'rs are blooming brightly,
The tree of life is seen;
And so inviting stand the fields,
"Array'd in living green."The Saviour sheds his presence,
In radiance round the place:
And joy and adoration
Beams bright on ev'ry face.
Loud swells the pealing anthem,
Through the high dome of heav'n,
"Worthy the Lamb, who once was slain,"
And hath our sins forgiv'n.As thus I gaze enraptur'd,
And drink heav'n's spirit in
Earth's costliest tow'rs and palaces
Look faded, worn and dim;
And death's cold stream that murmurs
So hoarsely on my ear;
If Jesus were my pilot
I'd cross without a fear.But oh! the tide is turning,
Health flows through ev'ry vein:
And I a little longer
On time's dark shore remain.
But thou, celestial city!
I'd keep thee still in view,
And gladly would the summons heed
That wafts my soul to you.
To a Friend
Sweet comes the gentle breath of spring,
Sighing soft among the flow'rs,
Or sporting high on airy wings,
Fanning the leaves upon the bow'rs.The golden sun looks gladly down
Upon the vari'gated earth;
Encouraged by his genial rays,
Her garner'd treasures have their birth.But though the face of earth is fair,
Chance and change are busy here;
And her rugg'd, chequer'd path,
Is water'd oft by sorrow's tear.Her bosom holds our treasured dead,
The lov'd who in our pathway trod:
Whose place is found on earth no more,
But the freed spirit's soar'd to God.When ling'ring in the place of graves,
Came there no voice from out the tomb,
Whisp'ring to thy spirit's ear,
"Mother, when will the morning come?""O mother, yes, it soon will come,
The glorious resurrection morn,
When Christ shall wake the sleeping dead,
And an immortal day shall dawn."And though your path may lead you forth
From early friends far, far away;
Far from your darling children's graves,
Jacob's God shall be your stay.Your chasten'd soul from sorrow's cup,
Has often drank the bitter draught;
But ere the portion was consumed,
A mingled sweet thy spirit quaff'd.Sister in Christ, God be thy stay,
And lead as He has led before;
And keep thee "in the narrow way,"
Where pleasures dwell for ever more.Perchance we may not meet again
While ling'ring in this vale of tears;
But mem'ry casts a hallow'd spell
Over the scenes of other years.And treasur'd in her secret cells,
My much loved friend, are thoughts of thee;
And if we meet no more on earth,
I feel thou'lt sometimes think of me.Now fare thee well, sweet sister dear,
God speed thy bark o'er life's dark sea;
Safe moor it in the port of peace,
Thy pilot, friend, and helper be.
The Mother's Watch.
O, no, he will not come to-night,--
The stars are fading from the sky;
I've watch'd their dim, expiring light,
With an unwearied, earnest eye,And soon the golden king of day
Morn's eastern gates will open wide;
And mounted on his fiery car,
Triumphant over earth will ride.And she array'd in robes of green,
Adorned with vari'gated flowers,
Will welcome him with smiling mien,
While soft winds sigh along the bowers.He'll kiss the roses on her cheek,
And dry the tear-drop from her eye,--
Cast a glad smile o'er all her face,
And gild each stream that glances by.And she'll spread out her tempting store
Of fruits and flow'ers, to his warm ray;
He'll touch them with his genial smile,
As glad he runs his joyous way.But soon his journey will be o'er,
And the dun curtains of the west,
Will hide his beams, while low he sinks
Upon the pillow of his rest.And soft will steal the twilight hour,
And bring again my watch for thee;
Oh, who may tell a mother's love,
Or fathom that unbounded sea?Time, that has pass'd with rapid flight,
On silent pinions, hurrying by,
Has witness'd oft the midnight watch,
Of the fond mother's earnest eye.In infancy, when feverish dreams
Disturb'd her darling as he slept,
How anxious was the mother's watch,
As she her nightly vigil kept.Her watch is o'er the cradle cast,
Through childhood's wild and flow'ry maze;
Her hand would lead through youth's gay scenes,
And smooth the path of riper days.Would shield from each impending ill,--
Would guard from ev'ry dang'rous snare.
Instruct the reason, curb the will,
And lift to heaven the trusting prayer.And should the pois'nous flowers that bloom
Beside his path, tempt him to rove,
To bring the thoughtless wanderer back,--
How earnest is a mother's love.And so we watch from youth to age,--
From the soft cradle to the grave;
No power can check a mother's love,
That would from sin and sorrow save.