| |
| MY thoughts are all in yonder town, | |
| Where, wept by many tears, | |
| To-day my mother’s friend lays down | |
| The burden of her years. | |
| |
| True as in life, no poor disguise | 5 |
| Of death with her is seen, | |
| And on her simple casket lies | |
| No wreath of bloom and green. | |
| |
| Oh, not for her the florist’s art, | |
| The mocking weeds of woe; | 10 |
| Dear memories in each mourner’s heart | |
| Like heaven’s white lilies blow. | |
| |
| And all about the softening air | |
| Of new-born sweetness tells, | |
| And the ungather’d May-flowers wear | 15 |
| The tints of ocean shells. | |
| |
| The old, assuring miracle | |
| Is fresh as heretofore; | |
| And earth takes up its parable | |
| Of life from death once more. | 20 |
| |
| Here organ-swell and church-bell toll | |
| Methinks but discord were; | |
| The prayerful silence of the soul | |
| Is best befitting her. | |
| |
| No sound should break the quietude | 25 |
| Alike of earth and sky; | |
| O wandering wind in Seabrook wood, | |
| Breathe but a half-heard sigh! | |
| |
| Sing softly, spring-bird, for her sake; | |
| And thou not distant sea, | 30 |
| Lapse lightly, as if Jesus spake, | |
| And thou wert Galilee! | |
| |
| For all her quiet life flow’d on | |
| As meadow streamlets flow, | |
| Where fresher green reveals alone | 35 |
| The noiseless ways they go. | |
| |
| And if her life small leisure found | |
| For feasting ear and eye, | |
| And Pleasure, on her daily round, | |
| She pass’d unpausing by, | 40 |
| |
| Yet with her went a secret sense | |
| Of all things sweet and fair, | |
| And Beauty’s gracious providence | |
| Refresh’d her unaware. | |
| |
| She kept her line of rectitude | 45 |
| With love’s unconscious ease; | |
| Her kindly instincts understood | |
| All gentle courtesies. | |
| |
| An inborn charm of graciousness | |
| Made sweet her smile and tone, | 50 |
| And glorified her farm-wife dress | |
| With beauty not its own. | |
| |
| The dear Lord’s best interpreters | |
| Are humble human souls; | |
| The Gospel of a life like hers | 55 |
| Is more than books or scrolls. | |
| |
| From scheme and creed the light goes out, | |
| The saintly fact survives; | |
| The blessèd Master none can doubt | |
| Reveal’d in holy lives. | 60 |
| |
