Poem, To Mrs. L. Feemster

              To Mrs. L Feemster.

Let me come, dear Friend, to thy lonely room,
Thy spirit's deep anguish to cheer,
And mourn sweet Henry in the tomb
Thy heart's bright jewel hid away there!

Is he in the dark tomb beneath the cold sod?
No! up in the mansions bright -
A glorious white robed angel of God
Rejoicing with Seraphs of light!

Shall we mourn a pure spirit scaped from the woes
That embitter mortality's days -
Who stands where life's river enchantingly flows,
And joins in the rapturous praise?

No never! but still let me mingle sad tears
With those who are left by his flight,
With the many hopes blasted that pictured life's years
So fair, and entrancingly bright.

This cradle so empty! this mansion so hushed -
But O sweet Friend! there's a balm;
It's soothing thou knowest for hearts that are crushed -
Thou hast felt its blest power to calm

Death's pale viewless angel hath lately recrossed
Our threshold, and sorely was tried
My spirit, as weeping the loved and the lost,
I stood by the coffin's side.

My sister, you know, with the sweet black eye,
And the dark rich glossy hair;
The one that I ne'er had once thought could die -
Ah me! she was sleeping there.

And then O how desolate seemed the still rooms,
How I missed her from morn until even!
And was tempted to mourn her as lost in the tomb,
Though I knew she was happy in heav'n.

And I closed my eyes to keep back the tears,
And prayed, and prayed to endure
The soul chilling absence of one so dear,
So lovely - so precious - so pure!

How often, dear Friend, in the years that are gone,
With our souls at Jesus' feet,
Have we solemnly said "Thy will be done"
And taught others the same to repeat.

Now still looking up to the heavenly hill,
Mid every affliction and pain,
Let us wholly submit our all to his will,
And the Savior will sweetly sustain.

Be always rejoicing in God, it is said,
And O! when we think of His love,
Can we cease to rejoice, that on us it is shed,
And that ours is treasure above?

Let us pray for His grace till from mourning we're free,
And the depths of our spirits can say -
O! blessed forever His holy name be!
Who hath given and taken away.

Ridgeway  Nov 11/62                Martha A. Feemster