Poems Sigourney 1834/Barzillai, the Gileadite

by Lydia Sigourney

BARZILLAI THE GILEADITE.

Let me be buried by the grave of my father and of my mother.
2 Samuel, XIX. 37.

    Son of Jesse!—let me go,
        Why should princely honours stay me?—
    Where the streams of Gilead flow,
    Where the light first met mine eye,
    Thither would I turn and die:—
    Where my parent's ashes lie,
        King of Israel!—bid them lay me.

        Bury me near my sire revered,
    Whose feet in righteous paths so firmly trod,
        Who early taught my soul^[1] with awe
        To heed the Prophets and the Law,
        And to my infant heart appeared
            Majestic as a God:—
    Oh! when his sacred dust
    The cerements of the tomb shall burst,
        Might I be worthy at his feet to rise,
            To yonder blissful skies,
        Where angel-hosts resplendent shine,
Jehovah!—Lord of Hosts, the glory shall be thine.

        Cold age upon my breast
    Hath shed a frost like death,
        The wine-cup hath no zest,
    The rose no fragrant breath,

        Music from my ear hath fled,
        Yet still a sweet tone lingereth there,
    The blessing that my mother shed
        Upon my evening prayer.
            Dim is my wasted eye
            To all that beauty brings,
    The brow of grace,—the form of symmetry
            Are half-forgotten things;—
    Yet one bright hue is vivid still,
A mother's holy smile that soothed my sharpest ill.

    Memory, with traitor-tread
        Methinks, doth steal away
    Treasures that the mind had laid
        Up for a wintry day:—
    Images of sacred power,
    Cherished deep in passion's hour,
        Faintly now my bosom stir,
    Good and evil like a dream
    Half obscured and shadowy seem,
Yet with a changeless love my soul remembereth her,
        Yea,—it remembereth her,
    Close by her blessed side, make ye my sepulchre.

1. not sole, see errata