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.
PART I.
Life and Character.