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A MONODY: TO A FATHER'S 
 MEMORY 
 
 SARAH P/MORRISON 
 
 •7„y of COAIQ - , 
 
 NOV 13 K^Sl / 
 
 CAMBRIDGE 
 
 PriateH at t\}t EibersiUe Press 
 
 1891 
 
 o 
 

 Copyright, 1891, 
 By SARAH P. MORRISON. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
For now we see through a glass, darkly. — 1 Cor. 
 xiii. 12. 
 
A MONODY: TO A FATHEE'S 
 MEMORY.* 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 1. O Day of Death, how dark thy gray and 
 
 shadowy wing ; — 
 Eclipsed the natural sky, hushed everything. 
 
 2. Within that twilight stands the Past ; its out- 
 
 line clears. 
 Thy deeds, Dear Lost, revealed, and my ar- 
 rears. 
 
 3. My conscience crouches chill, or like a babe 
 
 when left 
 At some cold door to die, wails on bereft. 
 
 4. Of endless, needless love, regret pours all her 
 
 store ; 
 How mean that all appears, not poured be- 
 fore ! 
 
 5. Time past irreparably ; Love's service incom- 
 
 plete : 
 Oh that I 'd first, love spent, died at thy feet ! 
 
 * John J. Morrison, died 1872. 
 
A MONODY: 
 
 n. 
 
 1. Irrevocably gone! That veil how thick or 
 
 thin ; 
 No sound to me. Hears he this poor world's 
 din? 
 
 2. Heard there my grieving heart ? my sighs ? 
 
 Think that he sees 
 In bliss this look ? Known there such tears 
 as these ? 
 
 3. While I find all things dulled : sense beating 
 
 as on drum, 
 Muffled beyond response. The heavens are 
 dumb. 
 
 4. Where is the soul that lived so nobly silent 
 
 here? 
 Thy coffined face I saw, thy funeral bier, 
 
 5. Thy open grave, thy form in grand repose ; 
 
 but where. 
 Where thou who fondly watched, escaped our 
 care? 
 
 in. 
 
 1. Thou didst not haste to go, but meekly tried 
 to live. 
 There is a power beyond ; not Death can give 
 
TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 7 
 
 2. The word to snap the thread, to bid the 
 
 weary rest : 
 A servant, he obeys a King's behest. 
 
 3. Then why that sudden word, if we thy off- 
 
 spring dear, 
 Great God ? " The blow deserved," I seem 
 to hear. 
 
 4. I thought — but now I see : the most I failed 
 
 to know, 
 I reached too far and missed, I learned too 
 slow. 
 
 5. To follow out my plans, I missed a grander 
 
 scope ; 
 Daily before me clear rose larger hope : 
 
 6. Daily a life shone forth I failed to under- 
 
 stand, 
 Beneficently beamed, benignant, grand : 
 
 7. My life's sun clear shone forth with !^indly 
 
 steady ray, 
 Shown constant to its close ; — woe wovth the 
 day! 
 
 8. I saw it near decline ; I knew it soon must 
 
 set. 
 I looked. It milder beamed, and, yet,, and 
 
 yet, 
 
8 A MONODY: 
 
 9. I could not then believe it soon would shine 
 
 no more, 
 So peaceful and so calm. Then all was o'er. 
 
 10. As when the sun goes down, diffused the ra- 
 
 diance sheds 
 Unwonted light, anew the landscape spreads, 
 
 11. So when he sudden sank into the night of 
 
 Death ; 
 Loss I Why did I not yield then my 
 breath ? 
 
 rv. 
 
 1. What were thy thoughts. My Dear, 
 
 That day, the last and dread ? 
 Oh that my heart had propped 
 Thy drooping head ; 
 
 2. My hands and kiss had warmed 
 
 Thy hands, so still and cold ; 
 My arm had clasped thee near, 
 In loving fold, 
 
 3. Death had not then surprised 
 
 So stealth'ly thee and me ; 
 I near, he might not then 
 Have taken thee. 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 
 
 4. He stole to thee unthought, 
 
 Alone he found thee, Dear ; 
 Him didst thou see ? They say 
 Not so ; — I fear. 
 
 5. What were thy thoughts, Dear One, 
 
 The moment just before, 
 And all that day ? I ask 
 But this — no more. 
 
 6. My heart breaks at the thought 
 
 That thou didst know the last. 
 And no one near to help, 
 When help was past. 
 
 7. My heart breaks at the thought 
 
 That all that day of dole. 
 Though all spoke cheer, yet none 
 Spoke to thy soul. 
 
 8. That with us all about, 
 
 No one of us a stay. 
 Thy feet sunk deeper down 
 That lonely way. 
 
 9. That with us all about, 
 
 And thou a dying man. 
 
 We read not failing powers. 
 
 And countenance wan, 
 
10 A MONODY: 
 
 10. We read not bright eye dimmed, 
 
 Nor failing pulse and breath ; 
 Nothing could make us think 
 " This may be death." 
 
 11. We did not mean to be 
 
 So heartless and so dull ; 
 Let love, which blinded us. 
 Our fault annul. 
 
 12. 'T was foolish, wrong, I know. 
 
 To hope, and seek to cheer ; 
 We should have comforted : 
 Forgive us. Dear. 
 
 1. Hast thou been comforted. Dear One, this 
 
 weary while? 
 Not long, nor oft; but still sometimes I 
 smile. 
 
 2. I wonder I can smile, or speak of aught but 
 
 thee. 
 Or name with even voice thy name. Ah me ! 
 
 3. In all familiar things I miss thy eye, thy 
 
 hand ; 
 Our thoughts in unison : none understand. 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 11 
 
 4. Keeping from hurt or fall my too oft willful 
 
 feet, 
 Shaming my foolish pride with reason sweet. 
 
 5. Where are thy careful ways ? The type to 
 
 me is lost ; 
 Ah, Father dear, I 've learned ; — at what a 
 cost! 
 
 6. There 's no one else like thee. I hate the 
 
 race of men, 
 All dwarfs ; my Father I want back again. 
 
 7. I see the beauteous life which seemed a com- 
 
 mon thing ; 
 Into the dreariest lot my heart I 'd fling, 
 
 8. To show that I a life could live, not all in vain, 
 My Father could I have once back again. 
 
 9. All zest from life is gone. All's wrong. 
 
 There 's nothing good. 
 Life faints, and tears are mixt with daily 
 food. 
 
 VI. 
 
 1. Not for all living men would I my dear dead 
 give; 
 'T is worth e'en death to have such memory 
 live. 
 
12 A MONODY: 
 
 2. Some unrequited days he weary spent. 'T is 
 
 worth, 
 To know so grand a soul e'er lived on earth. 
 
 3. For now he lives with God. And I ? I live 
 
 to know 
 More of the heaven that 's lent to us below. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 1. O face of gentle mien, 
 
 Of quiet, lofty power ; 
 Of dignity enhanced 
 Through nature's dower. 
 
 2. O father's face so kind, 
 
 O precious lines of care ; 
 O eye so clear, so true, 
 kingly air. 
 
 3. O noble head with brow 
 
 Where thought with goodness dwelled ; 
 And breast, where a chaste heart's 
 Emotion swelled. 
 
 4. Shoulders that bore their part. 
 
 Nor bent to service mean : 
 Soft hair of age, and beard 
 Of silvery sheen : 
 
TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 13 
 
 6. Her gushing tribute pays 
 
 My long pent soul. In thought 
 I reverent kiss that beard, 
 So life-like wrought. 
 
 6. Upon that breast I lean ; 
 
 That eye I seek, and then 
 To God I say, " ShaU this 
 Not live again ? " 
 
 VIII. 
 
 AFTER MEMORIAL SERVICE. 
 
 1- The Past is past, Dear One ; 
 Of thee, our best, bereft, 
 To cherish what we can 
 Is all that's left. 
 
 2. Not garments still to hoard, 
 
 Nor everything to keep. 
 Which thou didst dying leave 
 With us who weep. 
 
 3. Thou wast not one to hold 
 
 Within a tightened grasp 
 E'en all thou mightst have claimed 
 We only clasp 
 
 4. A few things called thine own ; 
 
 Too few : mementoes these, 
 
14 A MONODY: 
 
 Of one who lived not most 
 Himself to please ; 
 
 5. Of one who gave long since, 
 
 That with a father's care 
 We might the more enjoy 
 And freer share. 
 
 6. Oh ! when a broken band 
 
 We sat, the seal we broke, 
 Each heart in sweet accord 
 With him who spoke ; — 
 
 7. Though dead and powerless then, 
 
 Our wills how potent bent 
 To see fulfilled his dying 
 Testament ! 
 
 8. " To my beloved wife ; " — 
 
 Poor Mother, feeling more. 
 As day adds day to day. 
 Bereavement sore. 
 
 9. Her conscious mind his loss 
 
 At every turn must face ; 
 His goodness cause of grief, 
 For void his place. 
 
 10. Before his portrait sitting 
 
 She 's older grown and fades ; 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 15 
 
 Too much, I 'm sure, her thoughts 
 It over-shades : 
 
 11. Too poignant brings the sense 
 
 Of separation keen : 
 Silence has fallen for time 
 Their lives between. 
 
 12. That arm's support, her days 
 
 Lonely indeed without ; — 
 I wonder what my heart 
 Has been about. 
 
 13. Ah, Sister mine ! thou knowest, 
 
 Widowed in youth's fair flower : 
 The bond close knit between, 
 In sorrow's hour. 
 
 14. Long has the dust reposed 
 
 Of that youthful husband dead : 
 Long has the grass been green 
 Above his head. 
 
 15. Thou long hast worn the garb 
 
 Of woe, widowed indeed, 
 From his grave a flower thou 'st plucked 
 For Mother's need. 
 
 16. Sympathy's bloom so pure : 
 
 Mother, the blossom see ! 
 
16 A MONODY: 
 
 Its perfume is all about ; — 
 Sweet Sympathy ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 AFTER THE GOLDEN WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 1. In the old home burial ground 
 
 Kindred and neighbors lie ; 
 Thick sown their ranks, and rare 
 Their company. 
 
 2. Not in that time-dear place, 
 
 His grave whom most we mourn ; 
 To a lovely spot, his choice, 
 His form was borne. 
 
 3. First of us all to rest 
 
 In the lonely silent plot ; 
 Place then how dear, never 
 To be forgot. 
 
 4. Near a city great it lies ; 
 
 We may see it any day ; 
 It was strewn with Golden-Rod 
 On the Wedding Day. 
 
 5. We crowned our mother with gifts. 
 
 Affection's golden shower ; 
 Loss weighed on our hearts, a stone, 
 We had scarcely power 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 17 
 
 6. Not to weep that day all day, 
 
 So much we had thought in the past, 
 Of fruition upon its wings ; — 
 It was over at last. 
 
 7. But we comfort another's heart 
 
 By moving our own to do ; 
 And living our lives aright, 
 We live Hfe through. 
 
 X. 
 
 EASTER. 
 
 1. The joyful seasons come, 
 
 The Christmas Tide, the year 
 New ushered in ; then morn 
 Of morns most dear. 
 
 2. Dear Risen Lord, their joys 
 
 With buds of hope are wreathed 
 Though on their golden prime 
 A sigh is breathed, 
 
 3. A tear let fall on bloom. 
 
 As on our gifts that day, 
 When the Wedding Golden came 
 And gone our stay : — 
 
 4. Dear Brother Christ, we lean 
 
 Our woeful hearts on thee ; 
 
18 A MONODY: 
 
 With him, bring us to thy 
 Felicity ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 AN INTERLUDE : A RETROSPECT OF DECORATION 
 DAT. 
 
 1. On Decoration Day, 
 
 By a soldier's grave I stood, 
 And thought while others spoke, 
 " How brave ! How good ! " 
 
 2. A marble shaft uprose 
 
 To claim, " Here honor due ! " 
 Where in the graveyard old 
 The long grass grew. 
 
 3. Near by ancestral dust 
 
 Made ever dear the place ; 
 The tombs, so old and worn, 
 Had homely grace. 
 
 4. Above the stones moss-grown, 
 
 With quaint inscriptions crost, 
 The fragrant branches gay 
 In wildness tost. 
 
 5. There as I reverent stood, 
 
 And scanned them round, and thought 
 Of changes which the years 
 Since then had wrought, 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 19 
 
 6. How far removed their plane 
 
 From human action seemed ; 
 How worthless and how small 
 Things most esteemed. 
 
 7. " Nothing," I said, " is gold. 
 
 Nothing high place or fame ; 
 Nothing, save heart of truth 
 And worthy name." 
 
 8. The monumental shaft, 
 
 More recent dust above ; 
 Silent I stood. My heart 
 Asked, " Is this love ? 
 
 9. Old friend, best comrade e'er, 
 
 School champion, then lover. 
 And later pleasant friend, 
 Didst thou discover 
 
 10. That night, when by thy chair 
 
 A little while I stood. 
 With pity's smile all faint. 
 In melting mood, 
 
 11. That I was nearest love 
 
 To thee I 'd ever been ? — 
 Pity and love are said 
 To be akin. 
 
20 A MONODY: 
 
 12. At that plain view of doom, 
 
 So fell, so near at hand, 
 I touched thy chair's wide arm 
 With leaning hand ; 
 
 13. And then with talk around, 
 
 We spoke of recent war ; 
 Thy smile the same, thine eye 
 The same kind star. 
 
 14. The past had hold on me, 
 
 During our interview. 
 But if thy thoughts went back, 
 I never knew. 
 
 15. Wast thou a hero then. 
 
 Grander than in the strife ? 
 Nor gave least sign of wish 
 To link with thine my life ? 
 
 16. Or haply hadst thou now 
 
 Banished all deeper thought, 
 Save of thy coming fate 
 So nearly brought ? 
 
 17. My hero still the same! 
 
 Even if other love 
 Had ever caused thy heart 
 From me to move. 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 21 
 
 18. If country dear, or long 
 
 Unreasoning despite 
 Had changed thy constant heart 
 To yield me quite, 
 
 19. I 'd think the more of thee 
 
 To tire of my unworth ; 
 This love ? In self-contempt 
 It sprang to birth. 
 
 20. I know not at what call 
 
 I went that time from thee ; 
 As one might careless say, 
 'T was destiny. 
 
 21. But this I know : my heart 
 
 Regretful lingered there, 
 I stood in spirit still 
 Beside thy chair. 
 
 22. Cheerful our talk the while 
 
 And kind, — at last mine kind. 
 And then about the war ; 
 I call to mind 
 
 23. This ripple on smooth stream : 
 
 "And when they fight," asked I, 
 " How do men look ? " " Like beasts," 
 Was thy reply. 
 
22 A MONODY: 
 
 24. " Ah, sunny soul ! " I mused, 
 " It did thee violence. 
 And now thy life cut short 
 Pays the offense." 
 
 25. Farewell, true friend in love ; 
 
 Who learning my hard heart, 
 So loved as to efface 
 Offense. No art 
 
 26. Taught thee disguise, but love 
 
 From boyhood years to prime 
 Kept fast thy faith in love, 
 And made sublime 
 
 27. A simple heart. No plaint 
 
 Embittered speech, unsoured 
 Within that nature sweet. 
 Thy being flowered 
 
 28. Into serener peace. 
 
 As frank and kind, a touch 
 More rare put on ; to say, 
 Love's grace were such, 
 
 29. One could not love, and not 
 
 Be glad, and yet too dear 
 The passion to be named 
 Save in Love's ear ! 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 23 
 
 30. And this the character 
 
 I flouted at, and deemed 
 Too simple, commonplace. 
 And disesteemed ! 
 
 31. I know thee better now, — 
 
 I '11 think thee home above, — 
 " Farewell ! and what is not 
 Regret, is love." 
 
 XII. 
 
 1. Father, thou wouldst not mind, 
 
 Or think a simple lay, 
 Did thee a wrong, as some 
 Might wiser say. 
 
 2. And that it has no place, 
 
 Whatever its intent, 
 In this poor verse of mine, 
 Yet heart's lament ? 
 
 3. No ! Had some power but swept 
 
 Away the guard reserve ! — 
 'T is gone. I 'm nearer thee : 
 Thus would death serve ? 
 
 4. Ah ! now since death has come 
 
 And placed a veil between. 
 My heart I open all. 
 Nor seek to screen. 
 
24 ^ MONODY: 
 
 5. If I could only know- 
 
 That thou 'rt not so removed, 
 As not to see and know 
 My love thus proved ! 
 
 6. I '11 take the good I can, 
 
 And think that thou dost hear, 
 And see and know, and bend 
 To me thy ear. 
 
 7. For once if I had told 
 
 Such thing to thee, my Dear, 
 Thou wouldst have had in that 
 Kind eye a tear. 
 
 8. Thou wouldst have said with smile, 
 
 " How came our child to be 
 Of poets' tribe ? She got 
 It not from me ! " 
 
 9. Yet thou, my Father dear, 
 
 For those great sons of Time 
 Hadst large respect, voicing 
 Their songs sublime. 
 
 10. Old Homer's sounding verse 
 
 I 've heard thee measured roll, 
 And Milton's mighty chime 
 Swept deep thy soul. 
 
TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 25 
 
 11. And yet thy heart a child's 
 
 To feel the simplest thing 
 That could to others joy 
 Or sorrow bring. 
 
 12. There 's no one else like thee 
 
 My Dearest and my Best ! 
 God give to thee his peace 
 And choicest rest ! 
 
 13. I seem to hear thee say, 
 
 " Oh ! did my child thus feel ? 
 I fear my heart at times 
 Seemed sheath of steel." 
 
 14. No matter for those days, 
 
 My Father dear, they 're past. 
 I always knew thy heart 
 Was soft, steadfast. 
 
 15. I crept not far enough ; 
 
 Many the times I might ; 
 Thy daughter could not, Dear, 
 Sue for her right ! 
 
 16. Yet who can tell the strength 
 
 Of the allegiance fond, 
 Binding my heart to thine 
 In earliest bond ! 
 
26 ^ MONODY: 
 
 17. But now — O now ! How much 
 
 Have we ! Thy blessedness ! 
 And I ? To speak my heart's 
 Love and distress. 
 
 18. 'T is not enough ; my heart 
 
 Cannot be comforted ; 
 I 'd climb to heaven, creep in 
 The grave, thy bed. 
 
 19. grave that draws my heart. 
 
 My father is not there : 
 Only his body waits 
 Renewal fair. 
 
 20. But if it draws my heart, 
 
 Must he not bend his gaze 
 Sometimes to better view 
 Earth's brief amaze ? 
 
 21. heavens unsoiled by death ! 
 
 Bend with him, till I know 
 That there he waits for me 
 Till I too go ! 
 
 xm. 
 
 MAT 30. 
 
 1. At the Capitol I saw 
 
 Last year on Soldiers' Day, 
 
TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 27 
 
 Sculptured in white, a thought 
 To live for aye : 
 
 2. 'T was Memory with pen 
 
 Writing the page for Grief ; 
 Grief leaning weeping lorn 
 'Mid her flowery wreath. 
 
 3. A weeping Grief I lean 
 
 'Gainst Memory's dear cheek ; 
 She writes these thoughts which I 
 Could never speak. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 1. This is the fatal day^ when thou a year 
 
 ago 
 Didst sacrifice thy life. How couldst thou so ? 
 
 2. Didst yield that vital spark too long to cold 
 
 and storm ? 
 Nothing that current chilled could ever warm. 
 
 3. Duty, stern of face, how dost thou drive 
 
 and goad 
 The patient, steadfast soul, till 'neath thy load 
 
28 A MONODY: 
 
 4. With force all spent it sinks, but turns its 
 
 thankful eye 
 To bless thee for its smarts, and so, to die. 
 
 5. To bless thee, who dost burst upon its filmy 
 
 view 
 A splendor of God's love, in aspect new ; 
 
 6. And take into the arms of everlasting rest, 
 And pillow the poor head upon Love's breast. 
 
 7. But this the fatal day ; — no wonder that the 
 
 doom 
 Breathing upon the trees enrobed in bloom, 
 
 8. Gave omen dark and dire, during the fitful 
 
 night, 
 And showed to morning's view the frost's fell 
 blight. 
 
 9. fatal, fatal day ! — Though love foreboded 
 
 ill. 
 None knew him so near death, nor knew he 
 still. 
 
 10. And friends and neighbors pass with cus- 
 
 tomary tread, 
 Not knowing they shall soon exclaim, " He 's 
 dead ! " 
 
TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 29 
 
 11. "Day of anger. Day" — And I? I too 
 
 lived on, 
 And breathed the perfumed air, reveling in 
 sun. 
 
 12. How little then I knew, in the far sweet 
 
 South away. 
 The mandate that went forth that bitter day ! 
 
 13. How little thought, on sea or river's flow, or 
 
 sand 
 Of sunny beach, 'neath shade in flowery land, 
 
 14. Scenting the oranges' bloom, scanning the 
 
 beauteous shell. 
 How little did I think save, " All is well ! " 
 
 15. Shame on thee, luring Hope ! To fool us at 
 
 our ease, 
 Leaving me now to say, "What now can 
 please ? " 
 
 16. " If I had only known." " We 'U meet with 
 
 freshened heart," 
 I thought. This now my grief, — "so much 
 apart." 
 
 17. Oh ! when the warning comes, had we but 
 
 lived to give 
 Service that breathed, " If God shall grant 
 Hfe, Hve." 
 
30 A MONODY: 
 
 18. If we had only stayed our loved one close 
 
 beside, 
 Whisp'ring, " I 'U serve him well, whate'er 
 betide ! " — 
 
 19. My worthless life prolonged, I'll try the 
 
 more to be 
 More of that spirit which he wished in me. 
 
 XV. 
 
 INTERLUDE SECOND. 
 
 1. The Spring came sudden, fleet ; 
 When on an April day. 
 Listless o'er even lawn 
 I looked away. 
 
 2. " Come ! " cried the children, " Come ! 
 
 And seized my nerveless hand ; 
 " Come to the woods with us, 
 A joyous band ! 
 
 3. " You liked the first spring flowers ! " 
 
 And so I went to please, 
 They dancing on before, 
 Light as the breeze. 
 
 4. How pure the woodland air ! 
 
 How sweet the opening view ! 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 31 
 
 All life how murmurous, 
 How blissful grew ! 
 
 5. The soft ground yielding life, 
 
 The budding woods yet bare ; 
 Anemones tremulous stood, 
 And violets fair. 
 
 6. Spring beauties too, their pink 
 
 In loveliness displayed. 
 How very fair and good 
 All thus arrayed. 
 
 7. The children flew about 
 
 Like bees from flower to flower ; 
 The genial sun and air 
 Dispense their dower ; 
 
 8. While stainless arches high 
 
 The delicate, limpid blue ; 
 And earth's dark robe once more 
 Is 'broidered new. 
 
 9. Saith Nature soft to me, 
 
 " Grief -stricken one, take rest ; 
 The winter 's been too long. 
 Lean on my breast." 
 
 10. " There is a grave," I said, 
 
 " Trees grand as these surround ; 
 
32 A MONODY: 
 
 Their foliage soon again 
 Will shade the ground ; 
 
 11. " And sometimes when I think 
 
 Of that most precious dust 
 Sleeping in quiet there, 
 In angels' trust, 
 
 12. " It seems that change in us 
 
 Must do it some despite, 
 As if not of our ways 
 Unconscious quite." 
 
 13. " I know not," Nature said. 
 
 I made reply, " I know 
 Quite well, that he not there, 
 It is not so. 
 
 14. " But from above, his grave 
 
 Now green, does he not see 
 His body there ? " " It may 
 Be so," said she. 
 
 15. " Then can he not see all ? — 
 
 The flowers, the wood, and Oh ! 
 See us ? Hear what we say ? " 
 " It may be so." 
 
 16. I clasped my hands ; — "I wish 
 
 More of his state I knew ! 
 
TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 33 
 
 Wise friend, canst thou not give 
 Some certain clue ? " 
 
 17. " No clue to that," said she, 
 
 " But this I can surmise. 
 That he from out that grave 
 Again shall rise." 
 
 18. "Well do I know that truth," 
 
 I said. " The promise thrills ; 
 But a bridge to him my heart 
 Impetuous wills. 
 
 19. " Death 's such a gulf ! " A bird 
 
 Sang sudden overhead ; 
 Forlorn I sat. " A bridge," 
 She mildly said. 
 
 20. The fairest, frailest thing 
 
 Of all came waving by ; 
 Its wings of gossamer fresh 
 As vernal sky. 
 
 21. " See token here/' cried she, 
 
 " The witness of the spring ; 
 And best, the hutterfly 
 Upon the wing." 
 
 22. " Yes, yes, I know," I sighed, 
 
 " God lives, 't is glorious truth." 
 
34 A MONODY: 
 
 " Then why," she gently asked, 
 "MychHd, thyruth?" 
 
 23. " Oh, dreadful parting here, 
 
 And silence. He is dead. 
 The time 's so long ! " I mourned. 
 " Time long ? " she said. 
 
 24. "He did not know me all," 
 
 I said, and then I wept ; 
 " Perhaps he knows all now," 
 She silence kept. 
 
 25. " I did not know how far 
 
 My love for him surpassed 
 All other love of mine." 
 " Hast loved ? " she asked. 
 
 26. " There 's nothing for me left 
 
 But on God's truth to rest." 
 " Ah, God is good," she said, 
 " To trust Him, best. 
 
 27. " Take heart, my child, believe 
 
 That God is love, nor lost 
 A sigh or tear. The sun 
 Is good, the frost. 
 
 28. " He brings the seasons round ; 
 
 And gives the rainbow's cheer. 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 35 
 
 For storm and drought has use ; 
 He crowns the year. 
 
 29. " And shall He not take care 
 
 Of thee, for whom all these ? 
 Of thee, one chief est made 
 Himself to please ? 
 
 30. " / know not ; but how strange 
 
 For thee had He not store 
 Of all that He has told 
 Me of, — and more ! " 
 
 31. The scene glowed as she spoke ; 
 
 The children called and then 
 My troop fiower-laden, flushed, 
 Home slow again 
 
 32. Were led ; each childish frame 
 
 Lapsed into weary sense, 
 My being quieted 
 In Providence. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 CROWN HILL, INDIANAPOLIS. 
 
 July. 
 
 1. Sweet grounds and grave most dear ! 
 Through winding avenue 
 And shaded vista cool, — 
 A nearer view ! 
 
36 A MONODY: 
 
 2. The forest growth with scent 
 
 Of woodland, wild and sweet ; 
 Where bird and squirrel find home, 
 And flowerets greet 
 
 3. Sad eyes, and zephyrs fresh 
 
 Salute the mourner's cheek. 
 Cool after sultry drive : 
 These scarcely speak 
 
 4. Of that beyond : the fair. 
 
 Swelling expanse of hill 
 And vale and shaven lawn. 
 The City Still. 
 
 5. Domain where rest the dead ; 
 
 How shines each lettered stone ! 
 Deeply engraven here 
 Grief's monotone. 
 
 6. The strong, the wise, the young, 
 
 The fair, the loved, here meet : 
 Here pause. Ended the race 
 And stilled the feet. 
 
 7. Were I so near that I 
 
 Could daily come, and be 
 Beside his grave, like her 
 In minstrelsy, 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY, 37 
 
 8. She simply wise ; I too 
 
 Might " sit and sing " for love 
 Of him, and yet I know 
 He is above. 
 
 9. But now, O grave ! My eyes 
 
 Take thee into my heart. 
 ' T is right that thou shouldst be 
 Just thus apart ; 
 
 10. In greenness solitary, 
 
 Flecked with tender shade, 
 The dearest, saddest spot 
 Was ever made ! 
 
 11. How rank the grass is grown ! 
 
 Not yet a year, — some days 
 It seems since lingeringly 
 The last fond gaze ; 
 
 12. But oh, for him, how long 
 
 To be away ! Around 
 I walk, — ray heart takes in 
 The lowly mound. 
 
 13. Memorial marble soon 
 
 Will guide to where he lies ; 
 That sleeping dust unseen 
 God's eye descries. 
 
38 A MONODT. 
 
 14. O precious jewel hid ! 
 
 Not lost in slow decay ; 
 Immortal to burst forth, — ■ 
 God speed the day ! 
 
 15. Not now that face I 'd scan ; 
 
 Could it in no more pride 
 Appear than once, / should 
 Be satisfied ; 
 
 16. Save that I know that form 
 
 In glorified array 
 Shall come immortal forth, - 
 God speed the day ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 INTERLUDE THIRD: THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 1. From lonely, peaceful place 
 
 Our homeward course we wended ; 
 Our drive from grave to gate 
 Not unattended. 
 
 2. Rising upon our view, 
 
 To come and go 
 
 To and fro, 
 Was an escort fine and new. 
 A butterfly bright came, 
 Our airy servitor. 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 39 
 
 Or from what kingly court 
 Ambassador ? 
 
 3. Fashioned by hand divine, 
 
 Wings closed or spread, 
 Down, o'erhead. 
 Were touched in rare design. 
 Their blending tints were like 
 
 My young companion's gown. 
 A leaf from elysian fields 
 Seemed floating down. 
 
 4. The beauteous thing so slight, 
 
 As everywhere 
 Here and there, 
 Seemed fancy's shuttle bright. 
 The air an ample loom. 
 
 Threading its pretty way, 
 The butterfly allured 
 Us by its play. 
 
 5. Caressingly it came. 
 
 First in, then out. 
 
 And round about. 
 
 Obsequious, not tame. 
 
 Yet lightly anywhere. 
 
 By moments sat so still, 
 A jeweled ornament 
 It seemed at will. 
 
40 A MONODY: 
 
 6. As it a pattern wrought, 
 
 It passed, repassed, 
 Slow or fast ; 
 And sombre woof of thought, 
 Touched as by angel's hand, 
 
 Took on a golden hue ; 
 My heart her curtains dark 
 Slow back withdrew. 
 
 7. Blest sense of heavenly care, 
 
 Near brought delightsome 
 Thing so lightsome, 
 Weaving in ambient air. 
 Uninfluenced seemed caprice 
 
 Of motion free, or rest. 
 Yet teaching me in need 
 That trust is best. 
 
 8. As I with death communed, 
 
 The nimble, airy. 
 Flitting, fairy, 
 Gay butterfly attuned 
 To loving thought of God ; 
 Bright hint of life to be. 
 Which Nature's parted lip 
 Breathes unto me ! 
 
 9. Neath eye supreme its pleasure 
 
 Runs brimming over. 
 Fluttering rover 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 41 
 
 In fields of joy ! thou measure 
 Enwreathing without toil. 
 
 Still rather give me sorrow, 
 For thou, waif of a day ! 
 
 Hast no to-morrow. 
 
 10. From our admiring view, 
 It, fancy's fay. 
 Flitted away ; 
 But none the less we knew, 
 Late writ on limpid air, 
 
 The heavenly love that bended. 
 And from the cherished grave 
 Our way attended. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 THE OLD settlers' MEETING. 
 {At Salem, August.) 
 
 1. The storm retreating, rolls 
 
 Its diapason deep ; 
 The op23osing hill's vast flank 
 The free winds sweej) : 
 
 2. Upon the left, withdrawn 
 
 In misty folds, the rain ; 
 High float the airy clouds 
 O'er freshened plain. 
 
42 A MONODY: 
 
 3. In amphitheatre 
 
 We sat, of nature's green, 
 And list thy name, while smiles 
 The sylvan scene. 
 
 4. Thy name, thy name, my dear. 
 
 Recurring often there ; 
 Worthy the old, old place, 
 The scene so fair. 
 
 5. But oh, to miss thee so, 
 
 'Mid those who used to be 
 Thy mates, who often since, 
 In sympathy, 
 
 6. Clasped, dear, thy hand, thine eye 
 
 Met with a welcome fond : — 
 I sit with them, but gone 
 The perfect bond. 
 
 7. They feel their loss ; ah, friends 
 
 Of his be mine ! None knew 
 Him well as I. My being 
 Held the clew. 
 
 8. The man who loved him well. 
 
 And whom he loved the same, 
 I love, whate'er his mien, 
 His craft, his name. 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 43 
 
 9. The hand that joined his hand, 
 In friendship's clasp sincere, 
 That hand I clasp in mine 
 With smile and tear. 
 
 10. The hospitable board, 
 
 Where he an honored guest, 
 Its food, it seems to me. 
 Would taste the best. 
 
 11. Blessings upon the roof, 
 
 The home, the life, the heart. 
 Of any who with him 
 Have borne their part ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 1. September's sunny smiles are gone, — en- 
 
 chanted days, 
 October's russet gold and dreamy haze. 
 
 2. A butterfly lay light, 't was dead, on autumn 
 
 leaves : 
 A flower, frost-touched, it fell from life's fair 
 sheaves. 
 
 3. Now chill November calls to faith through 
 
 mists of death. 
 The trees like spectres stand : O south wind's 
 breath ! 
 
44 A MONODY: 
 
 4. About their roots thy warmth again shall 
 
 cause to flow 
 The hidden springs, the trees again shall grow. 
 
 5. When shall more potent power dissolve an 
 
 icier spell ? 
 Breathe me death's winter o'er, and all is 
 well! 
 
 XX. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 (December.) 
 
 1. Beneath the frozen ground 
 
 Thou liest ; the sleet, the snow ; 
 Around the wintry winds 
 Wild, ruthless blow. 
 
 2. Within my mourning heart. 
 
 Thy memory, dear and fair, 
 Imperishably shines, 
 Its jewel there. 
 
 3. The drops of tender pride 
 
 Slow well, then glisten, fall ; 
 Gentlest of hearts ! I did 
 Not know thee all. 
 
 4. It hardly comforts me. 
 
 That from the rough world's ways 
 Serene are sheltered now 
 Thy larger days. 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 45 
 
 5. The sigh that heaved thy breast, 
 
 I sigh it o'er again, — 
 These tears first dimmed thy eyes. 
 My prince of men ! 
 
 6. Beyond, thou liv'st removed 
 
 From this low, sombre plane. 
 I lift my eyes, I view 
 Thy certain gain. 
 
 7. Clothed with immortal life, — 
 
 What may that wonder be ? 
 So happy, I too almost 
 In loss of thee. 
 
 8. Roaming the realms of light 
 
 With many a bright compeer ; 
 Viewing the Saviour's face, 
 Nor cloud nor fear ; 
 
 9. How blest ! Ah, not yet quite 
 
 Thy state of bliss complete : 
 We wait — " The Lord in the air " 
 His saints shall meet. 
 
 10. Then Death and the Grave shall yield 
 Their unforgotten prey. 
 And earth's poor glimmer fade 
 Into heaven's day ! 
 
46 A MONODY: 
 
 11. PerKaps before that time 
 
 1 11 go to thee, — would I ? 
 Yet cling I to this life 
 So tame. Ah why ? 
 
 12. So fettered, sad and lorn ; 
 
 So weak, so short, so vain : 
 With fear and doubt beset, 
 With ill and pain. 
 
 13. I live because God wills ; 
 
 Life 's dear, — grim Death I hate, 
 'T is strange, — yet if I might 
 I 'd always wait. 
 
 14. How strange in heaven, perchance, 
 
 This wish to linger here : 
 That land fair of the leal, 
 This of the bier. 
 
 15. I sigh at the future lone ; 
 
 I yearn for that happier day ; 
 I mourn for our parted lot, — 
 It is not for aye. 
 
TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 47 
 
 XXI. 
 
 NEW year's eve. 
 Who givethjsongs in the night. — Job xxxv. 10. 
 
 1. Sad Memory trims her lamp relit from after- 
 
 glow, 
 Warm flushes in my sky now come and go. 
 
 2. Not day's aurora this, but bloom of night so 
 
 strange. 
 As if to speak of things known after change. 
 
 3. As if he entering, space was left that we might 
 
 see 
 A glory glimpse, a gleam of heaven to be. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 MIDNIGHT. 
 
 1. My sun is sunk in night : 
 
 The shades will not away ; 
 The day shall not arise 
 Until that day. 
 
 2. I leave you, dear, with God : 
 
 My times are in his hand ; 
 O'er life, death, being, all, 
 His purpose grand. 
 
48 A MONODY. 
 
 3o I leave you, dear, with God, — 
 My times He ruleth o'er ; 
 The morn comes and the night, — 
 I can no more. 
 
^ 
 
 MY SUN IS SUNK IN NIGHT. 
 
 Sakah p. Morrison, Indianapolis. 
 
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