Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/159

        Listen at hush of eve—listen at dawn of day—
        List at the hour of prayer—can ye not hear my lay?
                        Untaught, unchecked it came,
                            As light from chaos beamed,
                        Praising his everlasting name,
                Whose blood from Calvary streamed—
And still it swells that highest strain, the song of the redeemed.

                        Brother!—my only one!
                            Beloved from childhood's hours,
                    With whom, beneath the vernal son,
                        I wandered when our task was done,
                            And gathered early flowers;
                                I cannot come to thee,
                    Though 't was so sweet to rest
    Upon thy gently-guiding arm—thy sympathizing breast:
                                'Tis better here to be.
                        No disappointments shroud
                            The angel-bowers of joy,
                        Our knowledge hath no cloud,
                            Our pleasures no alloy,
                        The fearful word—to part,
                            Is never breathed above,
                        Heaven hath no broken heart—
                            Call me not hence, my love.

                        Oh, mother!—He is here
                            To whom my soul so grew,
                        That when Death's fatal spear
                        Stretched him upon his bier,
                            I fain must follow too.
                    His smile my infant griefs restrained —
                        His image in my childish dream
                    And o'er my young affections reigned,
                        With gratitude unuttered and supreme.
But yet till these refulgent skies burst forth in radiant glow
I know not half the unmeasured debt a daughter's heart doth owe.