9. Consolations in
Bereavement
|
{26}
DEATH was full urgent with thee, Sister dear, |
| And startling
in his speed;— |
| Brief pain, then languor till thy end came near— |
| Such was the
path decreed, |
|
The hurried road |
To lead thy soul from earth to thine own God's
abode. |
Death wrought with thee, sweet maid, impatiently:— |
| Yet merciful
the haste |
| That baffles sickness;—dearest, thou didst die, |
| Thou wast not
made to taste |
|
Death's bitterness, |
Decline's slow-wasting charm, or fever's fierce
distress. |
{27}
Death came unheralded:—but it was well; |
| For so thy
Saviour bore |
| Kind witness, thou wast meet at once to dwell |
| On His
eternal shore; |
|
All warning spared, |
For none He gives where hearts are for prompt change
prepared. |
Death wrought in mystery; both complaint and cure |
| To human
skill unknown:— |
| God put aside all means, to make us sure |
| It was His
deed alone; |
|
Lest we should lay |
Reproach on our poor selves, that thou wast caught
away. |
Death urged as scant of time:—lest, Sister dear, |
| We many a
lingering day |
| Had sicken'd with alternate hope and fear, |
| The ague of
delay; |
|
Watching each spark |
Of promise quench'd in turn, till all our sky was
dark. {28} |
Death came and went:—that so thy image might |
| Our yearning
hearts possess, |
| Associate with all pleasant thoughts and bright, |
| With youth
and loveliness; |
|
Sorrow can claim, |
| Mary, nor lot nor part in thy soft soothing name. |
Joy of sad hearts, and light of downcast eyes! |
| Dearest thou
art enshrined |
| In all thy fragrance in our memories; |
| For we must
ever find |
|
Bare thought of thee |
| Freshen this weary life, while weary life shall be. |
Oxford.
April, 1828. |