Poems (Truesdell)/The Sick Child's Lament
THE SICK CHILD'S LAMENT.
"Oh! mother, I am sorrowful; There 's sadness in my heart; I know not why it is, and yet All day the tears will start.
"They tell me of a better land;— O mother, is it so, That they who reach those radiant shores, No pain or sickness know?
"And, mother, in my sleep, last night. There o'er my spirit fell A strange sweet dream, I scarce know why, But fain to thee would tell.
"I thought that, robed in spotless white,— A crown upon my head,—Surrounded by a fairy band Of children,—I was led
"By a tall figure, clothed in black— A scepter in his hand, And every one to whom he spoke Sprang forth at his command.
"He led us on through darksome scenes, And damp unwholesome air; And then there burst upon my sight, A scene so heavenly fair—
"A city, all of purest gold, Set round with radiant gems, And, every place I looked, I saw Ten thousand diadems;
"And countless numbers tuned their harps, In strains of music sweet; And angels, bearing golden lyres, Came forth our steps to greet.
"They led us to a lofty throne, Of ivory and gold:—But, ah! the beauty of that place Must still be all untold;
"For could my childish lips assume An angel's heavenly tone, Fruitless and vain my words would prove, And useless be the loan.
"Then wonder not I 'm sorrowful, And have been so all day; For though I love my own dear home, I fain would always stay
"Amid those scenes so beautiful, So gladdening to the eye: But, ere I reach that lofty home, Dear mother, I must die."
The mother's cheek grew deadly pale, Her eyes were filled with tears,She placed her hand upon her heart, As stifling all her fears;
But when she spoke, her words were calm As an unruffled stream, And gentle, tender, pure and kind As her own loved one's dream:—
"Thy prayer is heard, my beautiful, My loving one and bright! Thy lips to me too soon will breathe Their last—yes, last 'Good night!'"
"Yes, mother, for I hear again The music softly flow,And see the angels beckon me,— I 'm weary, and would go
"To join that high and holy throng "Who worship there above,—One kiss, dear mother! 'tis the last, Last pledge of earthly love!"
She placed a kiss upon her child. In fondness, but in woe; Then knelt in that deep agony, Which none but mothers know.
But when she rose the storm had ceased; She felt as one who'd given, With all its pure and sinless truth, An angel back to heaven.