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Songs of Sorrow
To Grandmother
(Mrs. Eliza A. Wood.Died April 19, 1921)
Grandmother, why didn't you tell us
You were going to sail for afar,
Stealing silently out of the harbor,
By the light of the first morning star?
You were going to sail for afar,
Stealing silently out of the harbor,
By the light of the first morning star?
We were sleeping so deep when you left us,
In the watches unlighted and gray;
And you didn't call out to your babies,
As you drifted so quickly away.
In the watches unlighted and gray;
And you didn't call out to your babies,
As you drifted so quickly away.
How swift we'd have risen to join you,
Had you wakened us, grandmother dear;
Hand in hand we'd have walked through the twilight,
Close beside you with carols of cheer.
Had you wakened us, grandmother dear;
Hand in hand we'd have walked through the twilight,
Close beside you with carols of cheer.
Once you said to us—do you remember?—
That when some day your journey would come,
Two white hands would be beckoning gently,
And guiding you safe to your home.
That when some day your journey would come,
Two white hands would be beckoning gently,
And guiding you safe to your home.
Was she waiting—the daughter you cherished,
The mother we scarce can recall,—
Where the bark lay at anchor to bear you
O'er the sea from earth's trouble and thrall?
The mother we scarce can recall,—
Where the bark lay at anchor to bear you
O'er the sea from earth's trouble and thrall?
Now we miss the first faltering footsteps,
That lately we heard on the stair;
And with sighs view the seat by the window,
Dear to one who no longer is there.
That lately we heard on the stair;
And with sighs view the seat by the window,
Dear to one who no longer is there.
We look sadly at each threaded needle,
At the empty chair close by the stand;
At thimble and shears idly resting,
That once moved in a deft, busy hand.
At the empty chair close by the stand;
At thimble and shears idly resting,
That once moved in a deft, busy hand.
When we speak, you no longer can answer,
And we scarce know the sad reason why;
But we feel the hot tears that come trickling,
As our lonely hearts yearningly cry.
And we scarce know the sad reason why;
But we feel the hot tears that come trickling,
As our lonely hearts yearningly cry.
Cold and pulseless the hands we are touching,
Still and lifeless the cheek that we press;
But around us the spirit forever
Will linger, to guard and caress!
Still and lifeless the cheek that we press;
But around us the spirit forever
Will linger, to guard and caress!
April 21, 1921
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