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Yea, trusting in God’s holy aid,
I to my Father knelt and prayed;
And one, the pensive Marmaduke,
Methought, was yielding inwardly,
And would have laid his purpose by,
But for a glance of his Father’s eye,
Which I myself could scarcely brook.
Then be we, each, and all, forgiven!
Thee, chiefly thee, my Sister dear,
Whose pangs are registered in heaven,—
The stifled sigh, the hidden tear,
And smiles, that dared to take their place,
Meek filial smiles, upon thy face,
As that unhallowed Banner grew
Beneath a loving old man’s view.
Thy part is done—thy painful part;
Be thou then satisfied in heart!
A further, though far easier task
Than thine hath been, my duties ask:
