TO THE SAME;
ON THE DEATH OF HER MOTHER.
Say not 'tis fruitless, nature's holy tear,
Shed by affection o'er a parent's bier!
More blest than dew on Hermon's brow that falls,
Each drop to life some latent virtue calls,
Awakes some purer hope, ordain'd to rise.
By earthly sorrow strengthen'd for the skies;
Till the sad heart, whose pangs exalt its love,
With its lost treasure, seeks a home—above.
But grief will claim her hour,—and He whose eye
Looks pitying down on nature's agony,
He, in whose love the righteous calmly sleep,
Who bids us hope, forbids us not to weep!
He, too, hath wept—and sacred be the woes
Once borne by Him, their inmost source who knows,
Searches each wound, and bids His Spirit bring
Celestial healing on its dove-like wing!
And who but He shall soothe, when one dread stroke
Ties, that were fibres of the soul, hath broke?
Oh! well may those, yet lingering here, deplore
The vanish'd light, that cheers their path no more!
Th' Almighty hand, which many a blessing dealt,
Sends its keen arrows not to be unfelt!
By fire and storm, heaven tries the Christian's worth,
And joy departs, to wean us from the earth,
Where still too long, with beings born to die,
Time hath dominion o'er Eternity.
Yet not the less, o'er all the heart hath lost,
Shall Faith rejoice, when Nature grieves the most.
Then comes her triumph! through the shadowy gloom,
Her star in glory rises from the tomb,
Mounts to the day-spring, leaves the cloud below,
And gilds the tears that cease not yet to flow!
Yes, all is o'er! fear, doubt, suspense are fled—
Let brighter thoughts be with the virtuous dead!
The final ordeal of the soul is past,
And the pale brow is seal'd to heaven at last!1[1]
- ↑ 1 "Till we have sealed the servants of God in their foreheads."—Revelation.
