Page:Poems Griffith.djvu/109

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IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER.
103
E'er fall upon her life like those which rest
So dark on mine.

          Oh father, my poor heart
Is lone and sad to-night. In agony
'Tis calling to thee in thy distant grave.
I am an orphan lone, and, when my brow
Is fevered and my heart oppressed, I fain
Would fly to thee; I would pour out my grief
Beside thy mouldering ashes; I would weep
Beside the cold grave-stone, and on the ear
Of Death would breathe a stricken daughter's woe.
My spirit calls to thine—oh come to me
In this lone hour, and let me know once more
A father's holy love. Ah, now a strange
Mysterious thrill comes o'er my soul; I feel
A spirit's presence father, is it thine!
Yes, it is thine, I see thee, and through all
The trembling fibres of my frame I feel
That hallowed kiss. Stay, blessed father, stay,
And leave me never more alone on this