Poems (Hale)/The Summons of Death

by Mary Whitwell Hale

THE SUMMONS OF DEATH.

Infant, On whose snowy brow
All is pure and stainless now,
In whose heart the fount of love
Hath its spring in heaven above,
Earth is no meet home for thee;
Thou its threatening ills shouldst flee.
          Haste, haste away!

Child, thy path is bright with flowers;
Joyous are thy sunny hours;
Thou must leave thy mirth and play,
For a purer, brighter day:
I have called, and thou must roam
Far from kindred, friends, and home.
          Haste, haste away!

Maiden, with thy step so light,
And thy brow so calm and bright,
Thou earth's sunny bowers must leave,—
Fate a darker web must weave;
Thou my gathering ranks must swell,—
Thou my triumph hour must tell.
          Haste, haste away!

Beauty, peerless in thy grace,
Smiles are wreathing now thy face:
Dost thou not existence deem
Lovely as thine own bright dream?
Thou must leave earth's pomp and state;
I have marked thy future fate.
          Haste, haste away!

Bride, thy plighted faith is given;
Now thy vow is heard in heaven.
Who may hear the tones which swell
Deep within thy fond heart's cell?
Vain thy secret wishes all;
Thou must haste thee at my call.
          Haste, haste away!

Soldier, on the battle plain
Thou must find thy courage vain.
Canst thou bear thee undismayed,
When my touch is on thee laid?
Soldier, on the battle field
Leave the helmet and the shield.
          Haste, haste away!

Sailor, 'mid the pathless sea
Shall thy quiet slumbers be;
Far within the watery deep
Shall-the mermaid o'er thee weep;
Friend nor kindred o'er thy bier
E'er shall shed the sorrowing tear.
          Haste, haste away!

Widow, in whose sorrowing heart
Joy hath not its wonted part,
Fear thou not my sad array;
He, thy loved, has trod the way;
And where comes no grief nor care,
He in bliss shall meet thee there.
          Haste, haste away!

Mother, let the tear be dried,
Shed o'er him, thy spirit's pride.
Shall a mother's love be vain?
Thou shalt see thine own again;
Ye shall meet on that blest shore,
Where earth's partings are no more.
          Haste, haste away!

Weary one, thy weeping cease;
I will bring a sweet release.
Earth has mocked with visions bright:
Gaze on heaven's fadeless light.
Let thy aching heart be stilled;
Brighter hopes shall be fulfilled.
          Haste, haste away!

Christian, fear not thou to die;
Now thy glorious goal is nigh.
Strike the golden harp of joy;
Well may praise its notes employ.
Now thy trial course is done,
Now thy crown of life is won.
          Haste, haste away!

Mortals, I have raised my band,
Pilgrims to a stranger land.
God hath my commission given,
You, His loved, to lead to heaven.
Earth has ne'er the spirit blest;
That 'mid heavenly joys should rest.
          Haste, haste away!