Poems (Lambert)/We Met
WE MET.
WE met, and memory flew to joys and tears,Back through the vista dim, of long-past years.In my childhood's home I was a child again—A home to me, save only in the name.
And yet I loved it, for there grew apaceFour lovely children ripening into grace;If 'twas not home, they sisters were to me,And even now their fairy forms I see.
Once by a tomb, alone I stood so drear—Dropped on a mother's grave a daughter's tear.A soft voice murmured, "She's my mother too;Sister, I'll put some flowers there for you."
God bless the child, she was too fair for earth;Such flowers as she should have immortal birth;And so God took our darling home on high,Where she will bloom to never fade and die.
No stranger was she in that home above,Where she was greeted with a mother's love;A wife stood waiting for a husband's child;A sister welcomed with a gladness mild.
We met, and I to him brought back—not years,But months deep fraught, alas, with joys and tears.That child a maiden grown, stood by his side;His light, his life, his darling, promised bride.
Again he stood by that sad bed of death,And felt the painful throbbing of her breath."I am so weary that I fain would rest—Oh, darling, place my head upon your breast."
We meet with hearts fast bound by mutual grief;We knew that sympathy could give relief;So when our stranger hands were joined together,A lonely sister found a loving brother.