"I SEE THEE STILL."
Mother and wife!
From thine abode of purity and peace,
Thou comest in thy gentle beauty back,
As full of meek and quiet loveliness,
As when thy home was earth.
From thine abode of purity and peace,
Thou comest in thy gentle beauty back,
As full of meek and quiet loveliness,
As when thy home was earth.
"I see thee still."
A year, that works such deep mysterious change,
Cannot efface thy memory from my heart.
The friend, within whose veins the tide of life
Flows warm, may change, and the sweet flower of love
Lie crushed and scentless in our desolate path.
The dead change not: with mystic beauty crowned,
They visit us, and with mysterious tones,
Low whispered in the midnight solitude,
Or twilight's gentle hush, they breathe the vow
Of love, unchanged, unchangeable, divine.
A year, that works such deep mysterious change,
Cannot efface thy memory from my heart.
The friend, within whose veins the tide of life
Flows warm, may change, and the sweet flower of love
Lie crushed and scentless in our desolate path.
The dead change not: with mystic beauty crowned,
They visit us, and with mysterious tones,
Low whispered in the midnight solitude,
Or twilight's gentle hush, they breathe the vow
Of love, unchanged, unchangeable, divine.
"I see thee still;" not in thy coffined sleep,
When weeping friends in silent sorrow met,
To bear thy precious ashes to their rest.
I see thee, as thy living image moved,
Blessing the home where thou didst do thy work,
In singleness of heart, as serving God.
Yes, sainted one! each deed of holy love,
Not on the crumbling marble traced, but stamped
In characters that time cannot efface,
Deep on my heart, bears record of thy worth.
And yet again I meet thee, where thy feet
Entered with reverent step the house of God.
In thine accustomed seat I see the eye;
Bent down in silent prayer, or raised to catch
A blessing from His sacred oracles;
And still again at the baptismal font,
Where thou didst lead the treasures He had giv en
To dedicate them to His holy Son.
Once more, I meet thee at the hallowed feast,
The sweet memorial of his matchless love.
There didst thou love to come, nor was thy seat
E'er vacant at the consecrated board,
Till wan disease its finger laid on thee,
And as a holy messenger of love,
Led thee from earth's imperfect rite to turn,
And, at the marriage supper of the Lamb,
To sit thee down in joy.
When weeping friends in silent sorrow met,
To bear thy precious ashes to their rest.
I see thee, as thy living image moved,
Blessing the home where thou didst do thy work,
In singleness of heart, as serving God.
Yes, sainted one! each deed of holy love,
Not on the crumbling marble traced, but stamped
In characters that time cannot efface,
Deep on my heart, bears record of thy worth.
And yet again I meet thee, where thy feet
Entered with reverent step the house of God.
In thine accustomed seat I see the eye;
Bent down in silent prayer, or raised to catch
A blessing from His sacred oracles;
And still again at the baptismal font,
Where thou didst lead the treasures He had giv en
To dedicate them to His holy Son.
Once more, I meet thee at the hallowed feast,
The sweet memorial of his matchless love.
There didst thou love to come, nor was thy seat
E'er vacant at the consecrated board,
Till wan disease its finger laid on thee,
And as a holy messenger of love,
Led thee from earth's imperfect rite to turn,
And, at the marriage supper of the Lamb,
To sit thee down in joy.
"I see thee still;"
But not where blooming only to decay
Comes the sweet breath of Spring's awakening flowers,
Within Mount Pleasant's prayer-blest solitudes:
Not there I see thee.
But not where blooming only to decay
Comes the sweet breath of Spring's awakening flowers,
Within Mount Pleasant's prayer-blest solitudes:
Not there I see thee.
But where flowers burst forth,
All radiant with the hues of living bloom,
Thyself a seraph form, with golden harp,
And spotless robe, and voice of melody,
I see thee standing mid a shining band.
Thine eye is turned to earth with tender beam
Of love ecstatic, and thy heaven-tuned lip
Calls us to join thee there.
All radiant with the hues of living bloom,
Thyself a seraph form, with golden harp,
And spotless robe, and voice of melody,
I see thee standing mid a shining band.
Thine eye is turned to earth with tender beam
Of love ecstatic, and thy heaven-tuned lip
Calls us to join thee there.
Ah! thou wast dear,—
Art dear to me, though death divides our homes.
Shall love delight the less in tranquil hour,
To meditate upon the friend in heaven
Than on the friend on earth? No: let us hold
Communion with the Infinite, Unseen,
That when our souls, death's narrow pathway past,
Shall enter at the golden gate of heaven,
It may not be as strangers, but as those
Who claim some kindred with the souls within.
Art dear to me, though death divides our homes.
Shall love delight the less in tranquil hour,
To meditate upon the friend in heaven
Than on the friend on earth? No: let us hold
Communion with the Infinite, Unseen,
That when our souls, death's narrow pathway past,
Shall enter at the golden gate of heaven,
It may not be as strangers, but as those
Who claim some kindred with the souls within.
Yes! thou art dear to me, thou glorified!
Thine was a sister's sweetness, with a truth
And dignity that almost won from me
A daughter's loving trust. O! if to thee,
Ransomed, redeemed from the embrace of earth,
Our yearning love can soar, and if thy soul
Communes with hearts left sorrowing here below,
Not vain, perchance, the tribute which I pay
To thy loved memory.
Thine was a sister's sweetness, with a truth
And dignity that almost won from me
A daughter's loving trust. O! if to thee,
Ransomed, redeemed from the embrace of earth,
Our yearning love can soar, and if thy soul
Communes with hearts left sorrowing here below,
Not vain, perchance, the tribute which I pay
To thy loved memory.