Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems/Lost and Saved
LOST AND SAVED
When thou wert born into the world,
My darling little child,
A robin came a second time
And piped its “wood-notes wild.”
When thou wert laid away to rest,
Beneath the churchyard clay,
A robin came a second time
To sing a mournful lay.
Did the bird come to solace me
With message from the skies,
When thou wert welcomed to the earth
And then to Paradise?
Was it thy guardian spirit, love,
That met me, first and last,
Across the sparkling bridge that spans
The Future and the Past?
Dear robin, with the tender heart,
I know how it is said
Your snowy bosom once became
A holy tint of red.
’Twas on the Saviour’s thorny crown
You bruised your dainty breast,
And unto you and Him I come
For comfort and for rest.
Lord! thou hast given me a child
And taken her away!
Behold me prostrate in the dust,
A mourner night and day.
My heart is empty and my soul
Rebellious in Thy sight—
Grant me the boon of perfect trust,
And lead me to the light.
Teach me that it was surely best
My one ewe lamb should go
Beyond the starry gems of night
And wilderness of woe.
Teach me that on some radiant shore,
Beyond th’ eternal main,
I shall behold her glorious eyes,
And clasp her form again!
Lord! I am in the Vale of Death!
No beacon burns within;
Send me a vision of my child
To break the spell of sin.
Bid her come as a bird and say:
“Mother, look up and see
How I aim saved for endless joy—
Sweet mother! follow me!
“Had I remained upon the earth,
As you so fiercely prayed,
There would have come a dismal fate
To grieve your little maid.
Sorrow and sickness and despair
Would toss my soul about,
Till I should live a life of pain
And die the death of doubt.
“Christ, in His mercy and His love,
Has spared your darling this,
Giving instead a home divine
And everlasting bliss.
Lo! He has bid me fly to you,
And in the twilight dim,
Reveal how I was called away
To lead you on to Him!
“Mother! the faith that guides to God
Will bring your soul to me;
There is no other certain way
Your cherub child to see.
Close not your ears to this appeal
That calms all human strife,
Making the gloomy grave itself
The Golden Gate of Life!
“The love that shall not lose its own
Must seek celestial fire—
Must light its torch by Heavenly flame,
And not the Pagan pyre.
Mother! dear mother! hear your child,
And let her win you where
The King of Glory sits enthroned
With ‘angels bright and fair.’
“And when the hour shall come for you
To bid the world farewell,
I shall be hovering o’er your couch
To hear the dying knell;
And you shall see me, robed in white,
With the red-breast in my hand,
Thrilling to guide you gently on
To the Eternal Land!”
My child! I hear thy voice and heed—
I go to God and thee!
Lead thou me on to thy abode
Beyond the sapphire sea!
And while thy little body sleeps
Among the birds and flowers,
I know thy sinless spirit soars,
In happier skies than ours!