Thompson, Priscilla Jane
Gleanings of Quiet Hours
TO A DECEASED FRIEND.
WRITTEN IN MEMORY OF MRS. POLLY DIXON.
THE veil of death hath fallen,
Loved one 'twixt thee and me;
Thou art now among the chosen of the Lord;
With heavenly saints immortal,
Enrobed in sanctity,
Thou art chanting with the blest, in sweet accord.
Oh, ever bright thy image,
Is pictured in my heart,
Though autumn after autumn now hath flown;
But memories still steal o'er me,
In which thou hast a part,
And I sometimes yearn to rob Death of his own.
Well didst thou keep the promise,
My dying mother craved:
That thou shouldst ever guard her orphan brood;
Oh, blessed foster-mother!
Thy tenderest love, thou gav'st;
And thou ever taught me lessons, pure and good.
Oh Death! why rob so early?
Why snatched thou her, from me,
When I, in wane of childhood, craved her most?
If longer thou hadst spared her,
I could ungrudgingly,
Permitted her, to be unto me lost.
Oh, many times in blindness,
Have I stumbled as I tread,
The rugged old road, which to me is new;
And I miss thy warm hand's pressure,
And I grieve that thou art dead;
While sad, regretful, tears, mine eyes bedew.
But sleep, beloved mother,
Why shouldst I grudge thy rest?
For thou indeed, hast done the 'better part;'
A mother to the orphan,
Of wives the true and best,
My inmost self, can yield thee, with glad heart.