Poems (McDonald)/The Spirit's Whisper

by Mary Noel McDonald

THE SPIRIT'S WHISPER.

            She is an angel now!
 Weep not, dear friend, that ere the rust of time
 Had gathered o'er thy bright and priceless gem,
 A hand Divine hath riven the casket fair,
 And placed thy radiant jewel in the skies,
 To shine for ever in the Saviour's crown.
 Do thy thoughts cling to earth? O, bid them rise
 On faith's strong wing, and in the spirit-land
 Behold thy lost one. See! her brow is lit
 With loveliness immortal. There, no tears
 Shall dim her beauty, and no weary sighs
 Fill her young bosom with their heaviness;
 For in that world of bliss, pain cannot enter—
 Sorrow is unknown—and O, blest bliss of all
 They never part in heaven.

            Dost thou catch
 The gentle whisper of that angel voice?
 Methinks the air is stirred with viewless plumes
 That quiver round us; while unto mine ear
 There comes a strain, like music heard in dreams,
 Or, soft and low, as an Æolian lyre,
 And this the burden of its melody:

    Sweet mother, do not weep!
The joy of sainted spirits now is mine;
I roam the fields of light, with those who keep
Bright watch, where heaven's own golden portals shine.

    I am the babe no more,
Who gave its feeble wailing to thine ear;
Free from the cumbering clay, I mount, I soar,
Upward and onward, through a boundless sphere!

    O, could'st thou know how fair,
How full of blessedness this better land,
Thou would'st rejoice, thy child in safety there,
Had place for ever 'mid the angel band.

    I may not tell ?hee all
Its light and loveliness; its hymns of joy
Upon a mortal ear may never fall,
And tongues immortal can alone employ:

    But O, 'tis sweet to be
A sinless dweller 'mid its radiant bowers;
To join its seraph-songs of harmony—
To breathe the incense of its fadeless flowers—

    To dwell no more with pain—
To shed no tears—to feel no panting breath—
Sweet mother, do not grieve for me again,
I am so blest; I bless the hand of death.

    Turn with unwavering trust
From the green earth-bed, where my body lies;
Thou did'st but lay its covering in the dust,
Thy child yet lives, will live, beyond the skies.

    There we shall meet again:
O yes! believe it, meet to part no more !
I'll welcome thee with heaven's angelic train,
And lead thee to the Saviour we adore.