Why take the brightest and best in the land,
And leave those behind we can better spare?
Is it to place them at Thy own right hand,
Where bliss eternal they will ever share?
Does heaven demand this great sacrifice,
That we should have cause to love it the more,
Think less of this earth with its sin and vice,
Take more interest in the other shore?
When earth is deprived of the good and true,
Do they join Thy hosts in the world above?
O tell us, God, is Maggie there with You,
Safe, well and happy in the realm of love?
How will it be known when the answer comes,
Must we show our faith ere we can hear it?
Then drive the sorrow from our saddened homes,
For Thou, O God, hast power to do it.
TO THE MEMORY
Of Mrs. Fidelia Whitaker, the excellent wife of my old and good friend, Byron Whitaker of Detroit, Michigan. Mrs. Whitaker had many fine qualities, and commanded my respect and esteem to a high degree.
Come listen, friends, the while I paint
Upon your hearts a picture true,
Of one whose love was never faint,
But full and strong and true to you.
No master’s skill can I command,
To imitate a face so fair,
But love will help to guide my hand,
And draw the lines with tender care.
First I will mark those large bright eyes,
So full of life, so full of cheer,
Sparkling with love yet meek and wise,
Touching our hearts to draw them near.