102
IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER.
Father, that flower is memory of thee.
Years, weary, anxious years have passed o'er earth,
And shadowed in their course young, loving hearts,
Since that bright morning when we saw thee go
Forth in the beauty of thy glorious prime,
Bearing to thy far southern home a fair
And gentle bride. Oh, father, thou didst kiss
Thy little prattler with a beaming smile,
And give her to thy mother's holy care;
But even then I heard a faint, low sigh,
Which sadly fell upon my ear and heart,
The omen of a coming agony.
Years, weary, anxious years have passed o'er earth,
And shadowed in their course young, loving hearts,
Since that bright morning when we saw thee go
Forth in the beauty of thy glorious prime,
Bearing to thy far southern home a fair
And gentle bride. Oh, father, thou didst kiss
Thy little prattler with a beaming smile,
And give her to thy mother's holy care;
But even then I heard a faint, low sigh,
Which sadly fell upon my ear and heart,
The omen of a coming agony.
They tell me that a fair, young stranger girl,
Who knew thee not, has placed a sweet wildrose
To shed its gentle fragrance o'er thy dust.
Her pitying heart was deeply touched to look
On thy neglected sleep, and, with the pure
Sweet instinct of a daughter, she placed flowers
Upon thy lonely grave. My deep heart breathes
A blessing upon hers. Oh may no griefs
Who knew thee not, has placed a sweet wildrose
To shed its gentle fragrance o'er thy dust.
Her pitying heart was deeply touched to look
On thy neglected sleep, and, with the pure
Sweet instinct of a daughter, she placed flowers
Upon thy lonely grave. My deep heart breathes
A blessing upon hers. Oh may no griefs
