Poems Sigourney 1834/Death of an Aged Christian
DEATH OF AN AGED CHRISTIAN.
I thought that death was terrible. I've seen
His ministry in the distorted brow,
The glazing eye, the struggle and the groan,
With which the heart-strings break. Yet here was one
Whose summoned breath went forth as peacefully
As folds the spent rose when the day is done.
Still life to her was dear, for with strong root
That charity whose fruit is happiness
Did grow and blossom in her, and the light
Of her own cheerful spirit flowing out,
Tinged earth's brief rain-drops with the bow of Heaven.
Time had respected her, had spared her brow
Its beauty, and her heart the unchilled warmth
Of those affections, gentle and sublime
Which make the fireside holy. Hand in hand
With those her care had nurtured, and who joyed.
To pay their debt of gratitude, she past,
Benign and graceful, down the vale of age,
Wrapped up in tender love. Without a sigh,
A change of feature, or a shaded smile,
She gave her hand to the stern messenger,
And as a glad child seeks its Father's house,
Went home. She in her Saviour's ranks had done
A veteran's service, and with Polycarp
Might say to Death, "For more than fourscore years
He was my Lord—shall I deny him now?"
No! No! Thou could'st not turn away from him
Who was thy hope from youth, and on whose arm
Thy feebleness of hoary hairs was staid.
Before his Father and the Angel host
He will adjudge thee faithful. So farewell,
Blessed, and full of days. No more thy prayer
Up through the solitude of night shall rise
To bless thy children's children—nor thy soul
Yearn for re-union with those kindred ones
Who went to rest before thee. 'Twas not meet
That thou should'st longer tarry from that bliss
Which God reserveth for the pure in heart.