Poems (McDonald)/The Dying Wife to Her Husband
They tell me life is waning fast,
And Death's dark wing unfurled,
Will bear my spirit soon from earth,
Unto an unknown world:
I feel, beloved, it must be so,—
I feel that even now
His hand is on my fluttering heart,
His shadow o'er my brow.
THE DYING WIFE TO HER HUSBAND.
They tell me life is waning fast,
And Death's dark wing unfurled,
Will bear my spirit soon from earth,
Unto an unknown world:
I feel, beloved, it must be so,—
I feel that even now
His hand is on my fluttering heart,
His shadow o'er my brow.
How shall I leave thee?—how resign
Thy tenderness and care?
The pressure of thy clasping hand,
Thy blessing, and thy prayer?
Together we have tasted joy,
Together wept in ill,
And the love that was so bright in bliss,
In grief was brighter still.
Thy tenderness and care?
The pressure of thy clasping hand,
Thy blessing, and thy prayer?
Together we have tasted joy,
Together wept in ill,
And the love that was so bright in bliss,
In grief was brighter still.
Wilt thou not miss me from thy side
When twilight's hour hath come?
Will it not seem a desert place,
The paradise of home?
Then, gather close with brooding love
Our children round thy knee,
And wipe with tenderest hand the tears
Which they will shed for me.
When twilight's hour hath come?
Will it not seem a desert place,
The paradise of home?
Then, gather close with brooding love
Our children round thy knee,
And wipe with tenderest hand the tears
Which they will shed for me.
And soothe each little throbbing heart
That asks for me in vain,
And say, that in the far-off heaven
Their mother lives again;
Link not my name with thoughts of death,
But point them to the sky,
And tell them, in the "Better Land"
They neither weep nor die.
That asks for me in vain,
And say, that in the far-off heaven
Their mother lives again;
Link not my name with thoughts of death,
But point them to the sky,
And tell them, in the "Better Land"
They neither weep nor die.
Go with them to their lonely couch
At evening's silent close,
And softly press each pillowed cheek,
And hush them to repose;
Or bid them kneel with clasped hands
To lisp their evening prayer;
Thou must unite a father's love,
With all a mother's care.
At evening's silent close,
And softly press each pillowed cheek,
And hush them to repose;
Or bid them kneel with clasped hands
To lisp their evening prayer;
Thou must unite a father's love,
With all a mother's care.
A mother's care! a mother's love!
And must they never know
How deeply in her "heart of hearts"
A mother's love may glow?
Will they yet bloom in girlhood fair,
While she who gave them birth
Lies all forgotten far away,
In one lone spot of earth?
And must they never know
How deeply in her "heart of hearts"
A mother's love may glow?
Will they yet bloom in girlhood fair,
While she who gave them birth
Lies all forgotten far away,
In one lone spot of earth?
Forgotten! no, beloved one, no!
Thou wilt remember still
The being who hath shared thy lot
Alike in good or ill;
Thou wilt remember all her love,
With faithful, fond regret;
And but the faults she could not hide,
Thy heart will e'er forget.
Thou wilt remember still
The being who hath shared thy lot
Alike in good or ill;
Thou wilt remember all her love,
With faithful, fond regret;
And but the faults she could not hide,
Thy heart will e'er forget.
And thou wilt come to that lone spot
Where the green willow waves,
And lead our children's tiny feet
Among the quiet graves;
And read for them the sculptured stone—
Brief record of my life—
Then say how faithfully I loved,
As mother, and as wife.
Where the green willow waves,
And lead our children's tiny feet
Among the quiet graves;
And read for them the sculptured stone—
Brief record of my life—
Then say how faithfully I loved,
As mother, and as wife.
How can I say farewell to thee?
How mark thy bitter tears?
Look up, beloved, we only part
For a few fleeting years;
They will roll o'er thy darkened path,
Swiftly as shadows flee,
And in a world of holier love
Will our blest meeting be.
How mark thy bitter tears?
Look up, beloved, we only part
For a few fleeting years;
They will roll o'er thy darkened path,
Swiftly as shadows flee,
And in a world of holier love
Will our blest meeting be.