Poems (Sharpless)/Household Sorrow

by Frances M. Sharpless

HOUSEHOLD SORROW

A sorrow broods over the household,
 A sorrow still and deep—
I feel its presence around my heart
 Like a thrill of suffering creep.

It hushes the baby's laughing voice,
 Tho' the child can dream not why;
But the half smile dies on its rosy lip
 And a wonder fills its eye.

I look far out in the sunshine
 That bathes the earth in light—
And the voice of nature murmureth low
 Her manifold delight.

But the shadow—oh, close it falleth,
 Thro' the dim and dusky air;
We whisper low, and with light foot-fall,
 We press the echoing stair.

And yet so soundly she sleeps above
 In that chamber cold and dim,
No noise from the busy world without
 Can reach her world within.

The shadow cast from the old pine-trees
 Flickers upon her face,
Mocking the play of the features rare,
 In their pure and chiselled grace.

And the wind stirreth tresses long and brown,
 'Tis but the wind alone—
And tears are filling our eyes, to see
 How stilly she sleepeth on.

The sorrow that broods o'er the household
 Marks every weary brow;—
Hers only is quiet and peaceful—
 She heedeth no sorrow now—

She whose warm heart felt ever
 The woes of other hearts—
Whose look of sympathy would draw
 The sting from suffering's darts.

The shadow over the household—
 The shadow of Death's pale wing—
Shall fill our hearts with the dreariness
 Of a life-long sorrowing.