List! The year was slowly dying
In the dark December days,
And the winds moaned low and sadly
O’er the lonely winter ways.
And the hills and vales were lying
As when life’s last flush hath fled,
Folded in a snowy mantle,
Silent, dreamless, cold and dread.
Whilst the winds without were grieving
O’er the meads and frozen streams,
Hearts within were filled with mourning,
Near the firelight’s fitful gleams.
On a couch of painful anguish,
Meek and patient, pale and wan,
Hand clasped hand in solemn parting—
Dying mother, stricken son.
“Dearest mother, are you trusting
In the name of Jesus now,
As you near the Stygian river
With the death damps on your brow?
Oh, so cold and dark the waters!
Do you fear to enter in?
Mother, I shall sadly miss you
In this world of care and sin.”
“Yes, my boy, I’m fully trusting
In the Saviour’s mighty love;
And I know His hand will guide me
Safely to His courts above.
Ah! I hear such holy voices
Chanting on the other shore,
Filling all my soul with rapture
As I’m swiftly sailing o’er.”
Thus she passed beyond the river,
Far beyond the gleaming bars
Of the sunset’s golden glory
And the pathway of the stars.
And they laid her last cold relics
’Neath the dreary drifting snow,
Whilst the winds moaned saddest requiem,
Prayerful, solemn, grieved, and low.
ONLY DREAMS.
Only dreams, aye, dreams forever
Haunt my soul and fill my brain
With the loved that I may never
Meet in this great world again.
Springtime seems but fraught with sadness,
Though the birds sing just as gay;
And there’s still as much of gladness
In the blooming, balmy May;
And the soft winds play as lightly
O’er the verdure and the flowers;
And the sun beams just as brightly
Over nature’s lovely bowers;
And the streamlet and the river
Murmur onward to the sea,
Singing low with silver quiver
Just the same, but not to me;