THE DYING MOTHER.
A mother is dying—O! breathe no sound,Let her faint low tones be heard!Now stifle your sobs as ye stand around,And list to each parting word!Throw open the casement, and let the breezePlaying over the jessamine vine,And passing the blossoming China trees,Come in with its fragrance fine.Make way—make way—let the cool wind playO’er the pale and dying brow;For she loves the breath of the closing day,And the day is closing now.O! see! how her mild dark eye grows bright,Like the eye of the gentle fawn!That eye will sleep in death this night,Ere another morning’s dawn.Yes! tender husband! wipe the fewDeath pearls from her forehead fair;They are not those pearls once given by you,And twined in her chestnut hair.’Tis true—’tis true—’tis her bridal day,But the bridal is not of earth;She will sit no more in her white array,The pride of the cheerful hearth;As once she sat, when, young and fair,She gave thee her virgin hand,When the bells rang out on the evening airA call to the bridal band.She is going now to the great “I AM!”She will soon with joy sit downTo the marriage supper of the Lamb,Arrayed in her sparkling crown.She is now the bride of the Crucified—His saints he callshis own;She is one of those for whom he died,Who will sit with him on his throne.O! see! the beams of the setting sun,How they kiss her faded cheek!Like the sun, her race is almost run—And hark! I hear her speak!Come near—come near—that voice to hear,’Tis like music dying away;Bend low, bend low, each list’ning ear,For the words those pale lips say:“I am dying—O! how cold,O! how deadly faint I feel!Death’s dark tide has o’er me roll’d,Tremors on my heartstrings steal!”“Husband! let me see thee, dear!Bow not thus thy mournful head!Speak of Heaven to calm my fear,Till the spark of life has fled.“Bring my children! bring them all!Darlings! round your mother stand!Place the babe within mine arms,Let me hold its tiny hand!“Smiling cherub! heir of Heaven!I shall see thee, darling! there;Raise me up, and let me kissCheek, and lip, and forehead fair.“Husband! let me lean my headSweetly on thy noble breast!Let me breathe away my lifeOn my fav’rite place of rest!“Cease thine aching, heaving heart!Gently, gently, let me die!Let me give my last farewell,Free from death’s deep agony.“Sons and daughters! all farewell!Let the last sweet kiss be given;Hear your mother’s dying charge—Meet me, meet me—all, in Heaven!”“Kiss me, husband! yet once more!Once again! there, that will do;O! ’tis sweet to think I takeBut a short farewell of you.“I am going—all is dark—Husband! ’tis not hard to die;O! what heavenly light I see!Glory! glory! victory!”
A mother is dying—O! breathe no sound,Let her faint low tones be heard!Now stifle your sobs as ye stand around,And list to each parting word!Throw open the casement, and let the breezePlaying over the jessamine vine,And passing the blossoming China trees,Come in with its fragrance fine.Make way—make way—let the cool wind playO’er the pale and dying brow;For she loves the breath of the closing day,And the day is closing now.O! see! how her mild dark eye grows bright,Like the eye of the gentle fawn!That eye will sleep in death this night,Ere another morning’s dawn.Yes! tender husband! wipe the fewDeath pearls from her forehead fair;They are not those pearls once given by you,And twined in her chestnut hair.’Tis true—’tis true—’tis her bridal day,But the bridal is not of earth;She will sit no more in her white array,The pride of the cheerful hearth;As once she sat, when, young and fair,She gave thee her virgin hand,When the bells rang out on the evening airA call to the bridal band.She is going now to the great “I AM!”She will soon with joy sit downTo the marriage supper of the Lamb,Arrayed in her sparkling crown.She is now the bride of the Crucified—His saints he callshis own;She is one of those for whom he died,Who will sit with him on his throne.O! see! the beams of the setting sun,How they kiss her faded cheek!Like the sun, her race is almost run—And hark! I hear her speak!Come near—come near—that voice to hear,’Tis like music dying away;Bend low, bend low, each list’ning ear,For the words those pale lips say:“I am dying—O! how cold,O! how deadly faint I feel!Death’s dark tide has o’er me roll’d,Tremors on my heartstrings steal!”“Husband! let me see thee, dear!Bow not thus thy mournful head!Speak of Heaven to calm my fear,Till the spark of life has fled.“Bring my children! bring them all!Darlings! round your mother stand!Place the babe within mine arms,Let me hold its tiny hand!“Smiling cherub! heir of Heaven!I shall see thee, darling! there;Raise me up, and let me kissCheek, and lip, and forehead fair.“Husband! let me lean my headSweetly on thy noble breast!Let me breathe away my lifeOn my fav’rite place of rest!“Cease thine aching, heaving heart!Gently, gently, let me die!Let me give my last farewell,Free from death’s deep agony.“Sons and daughters! all farewell!Let the last sweet kiss be given;Hear your mother’s dying charge—Meet me, meet me—all, in Heaven!”“Kiss me, husband! yet once more!Once again! there, that will do;O! ’tis sweet to think I takeBut a short farewell of you.“I am going—all is dark—Husband! ’tis not hard to die;O! what heavenly light I see!Glory! glory! victory!”
A mother is dying—O! breathe no sound,Let her faint low tones be heard!Now stifle your sobs as ye stand around,And list to each parting word!
A mother is dying—O! breathe no sound,
Let her faint low tones be heard!
Now stifle your sobs as ye stand around,
And list to each parting word!
Throw open the casement, and let the breezePlaying over the jessamine vine,And passing the blossoming China trees,Come in with its fragrance fine.
Throw open the casement, and let the breeze
Playing over the jessamine vine,
And passing the blossoming China trees,
Come in with its fragrance fine.
Make way—make way—let the cool wind playO’er the pale and dying brow;For she loves the breath of the closing day,And the day is closing now.
Make way—make way—let the cool wind play
O’er the pale and dying brow;
For she loves the breath of the closing day,
And the day is closing now.
O! see! how her mild dark eye grows bright,Like the eye of the gentle fawn!That eye will sleep in death this night,Ere another morning’s dawn.
O! see! how her mild dark eye grows bright,
Like the eye of the gentle fawn!
That eye will sleep in death this night,
Ere another morning’s dawn.
Yes! tender husband! wipe the fewDeath pearls from her forehead fair;They are not those pearls once given by you,And twined in her chestnut hair.
Yes! tender husband! wipe the few
Death pearls from her forehead fair;
They are not those pearls once given by you,
And twined in her chestnut hair.
’Tis true—’tis true—’tis her bridal day,But the bridal is not of earth;She will sit no more in her white array,The pride of the cheerful hearth;
’Tis true—’tis true—’tis her bridal day,
But the bridal is not of earth;
She will sit no more in her white array,
The pride of the cheerful hearth;
As once she sat, when, young and fair,She gave thee her virgin hand,When the bells rang out on the evening airA call to the bridal band.
As once she sat, when, young and fair,
She gave thee her virgin hand,
When the bells rang out on the evening air
A call to the bridal band.
She is going now to the great “I AM!”She will soon with joy sit downTo the marriage supper of the Lamb,Arrayed in her sparkling crown.
She is going now to the great “I AM!”
She will soon with joy sit down
To the marriage supper of the Lamb,
Arrayed in her sparkling crown.
She is now the bride of the Crucified—His saints he callshis own;She is one of those for whom he died,Who will sit with him on his throne.
She is now the bride of the Crucified—
His saints he callshis own;
She is one of those for whom he died,
Who will sit with him on his throne.
O! see! the beams of the setting sun,How they kiss her faded cheek!Like the sun, her race is almost run—And hark! I hear her speak!
O! see! the beams of the setting sun,
How they kiss her faded cheek!
Like the sun, her race is almost run—
And hark! I hear her speak!
Come near—come near—that voice to hear,’Tis like music dying away;Bend low, bend low, each list’ning ear,For the words those pale lips say:
Come near—come near—that voice to hear,
’Tis like music dying away;
Bend low, bend low, each list’ning ear,
For the words those pale lips say:
“I am dying—O! how cold,O! how deadly faint I feel!Death’s dark tide has o’er me roll’d,Tremors on my heartstrings steal!”
“I am dying—O! how cold,
O! how deadly faint I feel!
Death’s dark tide has o’er me roll’d,
Tremors on my heartstrings steal!”
“Husband! let me see thee, dear!Bow not thus thy mournful head!Speak of Heaven to calm my fear,Till the spark of life has fled.
“Husband! let me see thee, dear!
Bow not thus thy mournful head!
Speak of Heaven to calm my fear,
Till the spark of life has fled.
“Bring my children! bring them all!Darlings! round your mother stand!Place the babe within mine arms,Let me hold its tiny hand!
“Bring my children! bring them all!
Darlings! round your mother stand!
Place the babe within mine arms,
Let me hold its tiny hand!
“Smiling cherub! heir of Heaven!I shall see thee, darling! there;Raise me up, and let me kissCheek, and lip, and forehead fair.
“Smiling cherub! heir of Heaven!
I shall see thee, darling! there;
Raise me up, and let me kiss
Cheek, and lip, and forehead fair.
“Husband! let me lean my headSweetly on thy noble breast!Let me breathe away my lifeOn my fav’rite place of rest!
“Husband! let me lean my head
Sweetly on thy noble breast!
Let me breathe away my life
On my fav’rite place of rest!
“Cease thine aching, heaving heart!Gently, gently, let me die!Let me give my last farewell,Free from death’s deep agony.
“Cease thine aching, heaving heart!
Gently, gently, let me die!
Let me give my last farewell,
Free from death’s deep agony.
“Sons and daughters! all farewell!Let the last sweet kiss be given;Hear your mother’s dying charge—Meet me, meet me—all, in Heaven!”
“Sons and daughters! all farewell!
Let the last sweet kiss be given;
Hear your mother’s dying charge—
Meet me, meet me—all, in Heaven!”
“Kiss me, husband! yet once more!Once again! there, that will do;O! ’tis sweet to think I takeBut a short farewell of you.
“Kiss me, husband! yet once more!
Once again! there, that will do;
O! ’tis sweet to think I take
But a short farewell of you.
“I am going—all is dark—Husband! ’tis not hard to die;O! what heavenly light I see!Glory! glory! victory!”
“I am going—all is dark—
Husband! ’tis not hard to die;
O! what heavenly light I see!
Glory! glory! victory!”
February 23, 1841.