Thompson, Clara Ann
|TO MY DEAD BROTHER|
How silently the years have sped away,
Drifting me off from childhood's
Since angels bore thy pure white soul away,
On swift bright wings, to realms of
And purer clime.
And still my heart, dear brother, yearns
When friends seem cold, and life and
earth so drear,
Thou wert my hero, ever true to me;
Though other brothers loved I tenderly,
Thou wert most clear.
Ofttimes when death seems cold and grim
I cling to earth, with all its wasting care,
I think: That Messenger once came to
And then I dare to brave eternity,
For thou art there.
And when, at last, the toil of life all o'er,
I stand by Jordan's surging, swelling, tide,
Methinks our Lord will send thee to the shore,
To guide thy falt' ring, timid, sister o'er,
To heaven's side.