Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/201

Behold, her darkening eye doth search for thee,
As the bowed violet through some chilling screne
Turns toward the Sun that cheered it. Well thine heart
Hath read its language from her cradle-hour,
What saith it to thee?
                                     "Blessed one, farewell!
I go to Jesus; early didst thou teach
My soul the way, from yonder Book of Heaven;
Come soon to me, sweet guide."
                                                        Ah, gather up
The glimmering radiance of that parting smile—
Prolong the final kiss—hang fondly o'er
The quivering pressure of that marble hand,
Those last, deep tokens of a daughter's love.
    Weep, but not murmur. She no more shall pine
Before thine eyes in smothered agony,
And waste away, and wear the hectic flush,
That cheats so long, to wake a keener pain.
Beside thy hearth she is a guest no more;
But in Heaven's beauty shalt thou visit her,
In Heaven's high health.
                                         Call her no longer thine.
Thou couldst not keep Consumption's moth away
From her frail web of life. Thou could'st not guard
Thy darling from the lion. All thy love,
In the best armour of its sleepless might,
The spoiler trampled as a reed. Give thanks
That she is safe with Him who hath the power
O'er pain and sin and death. Mourner give thanks.