Poems (Frances Elizabeth Browne)/On the death of the dowager lady Powerscourt
ON THE DEATH OF THE DOWAGER LADY POWERSCOURT.[1]
Angels, strike your harps of gold!
Who surround the eternal throne;
Though the Godhead ye behold,
Sympathy with man ye own.
O'er his fallen, yet kindred, race,
Still ye watch with holy love,
And, ransomed through a Saviour's grace,
Behold him seek your ranks above.
Who surround the eternal throne;
Though the Godhead ye behold,
Sympathy with man ye own.
O'er his fallen, yet kindred, race,
Still ye watch with holy love,
And, ransomed through a Saviour's grace,
Behold him seek your ranks above.
Hail ye now a happy soul!
From our world of woe and care,
Lo! she gains the blissful goal,
Comes your heavenly joys to share,
Through the portals of the grave,
In the steps her Saviour trod,
Who in death the victory gave,
And conveyed her home to God.
From our world of woe and care,
Lo! she gains the blissful goal,
Comes your heavenly joys to share,
Through the portals of the grave,
In the steps her Saviour trod,
Who in death the victory gave,
And conveyed her home to God.
Clothed in garments pure and white,
Cleansed in Calvary's crimson flood,
Sinners! who (in robes so bright)
Comes to view her Saviour, God?
She who gains a heavenly crown
Earthly honors meekly wore,
Gladly laid the burden down,—
Powerscourt was the name she bore.
Cleansed in Calvary's crimson flood,
Sinners! who (in robes so bright)
Comes to view her Saviour, God?
She who gains a heavenly crown
Earthly honors meekly wore,
Gladly laid the burden down,—
Powerscourt was the name she bore.
Wealth was hers, but she had learned
Where alone true riches lie,
And from worldly treasures turned,
Seeking those beyond the sky.
Early doomed to feel the smart
Of affliction's chastening rod,
She reposed a widowed heart
On the bosom of her God.
Where alone true riches lie,
And from worldly treasures turned,
Seeking those beyond the sky.
Early doomed to feel the smart
Of affliction's chastening rod,
She reposed a widowed heart
On the bosom of her God.
Through this wilderness she passed,
Supported by her Saviour's arm,
And to behold his face at last
Could death of every sting disarm.
Hastening her duties to fulfil,
Assured her Lord would call her home
From that high station which his will
Said, "Occupy till I shall come,"
Supported by her Saviour's arm,
And to behold his face at last
Could death of every sting disarm.
Hastening her duties to fulfil,
Assured her Lord would call her home
From that high station which his will
Said, "Occupy till I shall come,"
Her stewardship she calmly closed,
Though yet no sickness touched her frame:
Her house in order she disposed,
And then the looked-for summons came.
She sickened,—human aid was vain,—
She knew that now her hour was come.
Angels, pour forth a glorious strain!
Her happy spirit welcome home!
Though yet no sickness touched her frame:
Her house in order she disposed,
And then the looked-for summons came.
She sickened,—human aid was vain,—
She knew that now her hour was come.
Angels, pour forth a glorious strain!
Her happy spirit welcome home!
- ↑ This pious lady had felt a presentiment of her approaching death a week before she was attacked with any sickness, and immediately arranged her affairs, to the most minute particular, accordingly; on completing which she was taken ill, and died in a few days.