LINES ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG MAN.

A mother bends over a darling son,Whose work on earth is nearly done;And she cries in accents of bitter woe,“My darling one, can I let thee go?Can I give thee back to the Power that gave?Must this manly form rest in the grave?These lips to mine, shall I no more press?Nor my hand clasp thine in fond caress?Must I wait in vain thy step to hear?Will thy voice no longer greet my ear?Oh, this would be anguish too great to bear!I cannot, oh, Father, not e’en to thy care,Surrender this life so dear to me.Oh, Infinite Father, must it be?Must I drink from this cup of bitter woe?Oh, I cannot let my dear one go!”O’er the couch of his son, the father is bending;While his tears, with those of his mother are blending,And his agonized cry to the Infinite One—Is, “spare me, oh Father, my idolized son!Spare the life which so closely entwines round my heart!My son! oh my son! from thee must I part?The hope of my future—my pride and my joy!Oh, what would life be, if bereft of my boy?”While in anguish these parents thus plead for their son,A voice whispers to them “Let God’s will be done.”“Thy will,” they responded—“oh, help us to say,Thy will, oh our Father, both now, and alway.”It stilled the wild tempest of sorrow and pain,And brought to their minds that sweet promise again;Of strength, with the trial—of light mid the gloom,And a life never ending, beyond the dark tomb.Then they thought of the loved, who had passed on before,Who would greet their dear boy, on that beautiful shore—And give him a welcome, so tender and kind,And help him rich treasures of knowledge to find.There was one, like a sister, they felt she was near,With the ear of the spirit, her voice they could hear,Saying, “Be of good cheer; the stream is not wide;And the friend that you love, is here by your side.Your dear one will come to this beautiful land,But still you shall feel the soft touch of his hand.In whispers of love, his voice you shall hear,As he speaks to your spirits in tones sweet and clear.”Now the breath of the sick one comes faintly and slow,And they feel that their first-born, their darling must go.They kiss him once more ere his spirit takes flight;—While his lips softly murmur, “dear mother, good night.Good night my dear father, I go to my home—The angels are waiting, they bid me to come.”One sigh! all is over! the spirit is free!The casket of clay, no more needed will be.Compose the dear limbs! fold the hands o’er the breast!His sufferings are ended! he’s gone to his rest!No longer these parents their vigil need keepBy the side of their son, he has fallen asleep.The father in tears is seeking relief,The mother is sleeping, worn out with her grief.In her slumbers she sees the face of her child,Bending over her pillow; and sweetly he smiled.She awakes, crying fondly, “My dear one, my own!”But alas! with her waking the vision had flown.She thought it a dream—tho’ the vision was true;And, putting it from her, as poor mortals do,She moaned in her anguish, “Oh, would I could beThus dreaming forever, my dear one, of thee!”Then, unto her spirit in tones soft and low,Came the words, “I am with you wherever you go;And, mother, not only in dreams, shall I beEnabled to whisper sweet comfort to thee,For I know that the Father will help me to give,In the hours of your waking, some proof that I live.”Like the fall of the dew upon leaflet and flower,Like the sound of sweet music, at twilight’s still hour,Like the glorious sun, after long night of gloom,These low whispered words, shed a light o’er the tomb,And the mother, no longer oppressed by her woes,Sank peacefully back again into repose.At length she awakes from her slumbers, to findThe light streaming in, through the half open blind;And she utters a prayer that the sunlight of loveMay thus enter her spirit, and lift it above.Then refreshed and submissive, she says, “It is o’er!My dear one is resting, I’ll murmur no more;—But in faith I will bow to the Infinite One,For I know, ‘It is well’—‘It is well’ with my son!”

A mother bends over a darling son,

Whose work on earth is nearly done;

And she cries in accents of bitter woe,

“My darling one, can I let thee go?

Can I give thee back to the Power that gave?

Must this manly form rest in the grave?

These lips to mine, shall I no more press?

Nor my hand clasp thine in fond caress?

Must I wait in vain thy step to hear?

Will thy voice no longer greet my ear?

Oh, this would be anguish too great to bear!

I cannot, oh, Father, not e’en to thy care,

Surrender this life so dear to me.

Oh, Infinite Father, must it be?

Must I drink from this cup of bitter woe?

Oh, I cannot let my dear one go!”

O’er the couch of his son, the father is bending;While his tears, with those of his mother are blending,And his agonized cry to the Infinite One—Is, “spare me, oh Father, my idolized son!Spare the life which so closely entwines round my heart!My son! oh my son! from thee must I part?The hope of my future—my pride and my joy!Oh, what would life be, if bereft of my boy?”

O’er the couch of his son, the father is bending;

While his tears, with those of his mother are blending,

And his agonized cry to the Infinite One—

Is, “spare me, oh Father, my idolized son!

Spare the life which so closely entwines round my heart!

My son! oh my son! from thee must I part?

The hope of my future—my pride and my joy!

Oh, what would life be, if bereft of my boy?”

While in anguish these parents thus plead for their son,A voice whispers to them “Let God’s will be done.”“Thy will,” they responded—“oh, help us to say,Thy will, oh our Father, both now, and alway.”It stilled the wild tempest of sorrow and pain,And brought to their minds that sweet promise again;Of strength, with the trial—of light mid the gloom,And a life never ending, beyond the dark tomb.

While in anguish these parents thus plead for their son,

A voice whispers to them “Let God’s will be done.”

“Thy will,” they responded—“oh, help us to say,

Thy will, oh our Father, both now, and alway.”

It stilled the wild tempest of sorrow and pain,

And brought to their minds that sweet promise again;

Of strength, with the trial—of light mid the gloom,

And a life never ending, beyond the dark tomb.

Then they thought of the loved, who had passed on before,Who would greet their dear boy, on that beautiful shore—And give him a welcome, so tender and kind,And help him rich treasures of knowledge to find.There was one, like a sister, they felt she was near,With the ear of the spirit, her voice they could hear,Saying, “Be of good cheer; the stream is not wide;And the friend that you love, is here by your side.Your dear one will come to this beautiful land,But still you shall feel the soft touch of his hand.In whispers of love, his voice you shall hear,As he speaks to your spirits in tones sweet and clear.”

Then they thought of the loved, who had passed on before,

Who would greet their dear boy, on that beautiful shore—

And give him a welcome, so tender and kind,

And help him rich treasures of knowledge to find.

There was one, like a sister, they felt she was near,

With the ear of the spirit, her voice they could hear,

Saying, “Be of good cheer; the stream is not wide;

And the friend that you love, is here by your side.

Your dear one will come to this beautiful land,

But still you shall feel the soft touch of his hand.

In whispers of love, his voice you shall hear,

As he speaks to your spirits in tones sweet and clear.”

Now the breath of the sick one comes faintly and slow,And they feel that their first-born, their darling must go.They kiss him once more ere his spirit takes flight;—While his lips softly murmur, “dear mother, good night.Good night my dear father, I go to my home—The angels are waiting, they bid me to come.”One sigh! all is over! the spirit is free!The casket of clay, no more needed will be.Compose the dear limbs! fold the hands o’er the breast!His sufferings are ended! he’s gone to his rest!No longer these parents their vigil need keepBy the side of their son, he has fallen asleep.

Now the breath of the sick one comes faintly and slow,

And they feel that their first-born, their darling must go.

They kiss him once more ere his spirit takes flight;—

While his lips softly murmur, “dear mother, good night.

Good night my dear father, I go to my home—

The angels are waiting, they bid me to come.”

One sigh! all is over! the spirit is free!

The casket of clay, no more needed will be.

Compose the dear limbs! fold the hands o’er the breast!

His sufferings are ended! he’s gone to his rest!

No longer these parents their vigil need keep

By the side of their son, he has fallen asleep.

The father in tears is seeking relief,The mother is sleeping, worn out with her grief.In her slumbers she sees the face of her child,Bending over her pillow; and sweetly he smiled.She awakes, crying fondly, “My dear one, my own!”But alas! with her waking the vision had flown.She thought it a dream—tho’ the vision was true;And, putting it from her, as poor mortals do,She moaned in her anguish, “Oh, would I could beThus dreaming forever, my dear one, of thee!”Then, unto her spirit in tones soft and low,Came the words, “I am with you wherever you go;And, mother, not only in dreams, shall I beEnabled to whisper sweet comfort to thee,For I know that the Father will help me to give,In the hours of your waking, some proof that I live.”

The father in tears is seeking relief,

The mother is sleeping, worn out with her grief.

In her slumbers she sees the face of her child,

Bending over her pillow; and sweetly he smiled.

She awakes, crying fondly, “My dear one, my own!”

But alas! with her waking the vision had flown.

She thought it a dream—tho’ the vision was true;

And, putting it from her, as poor mortals do,

She moaned in her anguish, “Oh, would I could be

Thus dreaming forever, my dear one, of thee!”

Then, unto her spirit in tones soft and low,

Came the words, “I am with you wherever you go;

And, mother, not only in dreams, shall I be

Enabled to whisper sweet comfort to thee,

For I know that the Father will help me to give,

In the hours of your waking, some proof that I live.”

Like the fall of the dew upon leaflet and flower,Like the sound of sweet music, at twilight’s still hour,Like the glorious sun, after long night of gloom,These low whispered words, shed a light o’er the tomb,And the mother, no longer oppressed by her woes,Sank peacefully back again into repose.At length she awakes from her slumbers, to findThe light streaming in, through the half open blind;And she utters a prayer that the sunlight of loveMay thus enter her spirit, and lift it above.Then refreshed and submissive, she says, “It is o’er!My dear one is resting, I’ll murmur no more;—But in faith I will bow to the Infinite One,For I know, ‘It is well’—‘It is well’ with my son!”

Like the fall of the dew upon leaflet and flower,

Like the sound of sweet music, at twilight’s still hour,

Like the glorious sun, after long night of gloom,

These low whispered words, shed a light o’er the tomb,

And the mother, no longer oppressed by her woes,

Sank peacefully back again into repose.

At length she awakes from her slumbers, to find

The light streaming in, through the half open blind;

And she utters a prayer that the sunlight of love

May thus enter her spirit, and lift it above.

Then refreshed and submissive, she says, “It is o’er!

My dear one is resting, I’ll murmur no more;—

But in faith I will bow to the Infinite One,

For I know, ‘It is well’—‘It is well’ with my son!”

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