66
POEMS.
A vision of the parent left
To be of earth's last tie bereft,
She did not sorrow that her eyes
Should close to gaze on Paradise.
There had been laid on her a hand
Leading her towards the better land.
Hers had not been her father's path,
And the deep grief the righteous hath
For others' sin, grew with her years,
Till had that path been traced with tears.
Oh! agony undreamt to gaze
In the dark soul where faith's pure rays
Have never entered! When that heart
So sinning, is of ours a part!
Such misery was hers. Love's trust
She knew had been poured forth on dust;
She knew the last left hope was o'er;
For him no prayers would rise more.
And he was doomed, and she must die,
Knowing they part eternally.
'Twas as a holy fire was given,
To light her glaring eyes from Heaven,
As she read searchingly the brow,
Bent to her own in terror now.
"My father dost thou mark a hand,
Stretched over our devoted land,
Mocking the might of man to save
Those whom it draweth to the grave?
To be of earth's last tie bereft,
She did not sorrow that her eyes
Should close to gaze on Paradise.
There had been laid on her a hand
Leading her towards the better land.
Hers had not been her father's path,
And the deep grief the righteous hath
For others' sin, grew with her years,
Till had that path been traced with tears.
Oh! agony undreamt to gaze
In the dark soul where faith's pure rays
Have never entered! When that heart
So sinning, is of ours a part!
Such misery was hers. Love's trust
She knew had been poured forth on dust;
She knew the last left hope was o'er;
For him no prayers would rise more.
And he was doomed, and she must die,
Knowing they part eternally.
'Twas as a holy fire was given,
To light her glaring eyes from Heaven,
As she read searchingly the brow,
Bent to her own in terror now.
"My father dost thou mark a hand,
Stretched over our devoted land,
Mocking the might of man to save
Those whom it draweth to the grave?
