Poems (Truesdell)/I was not always sorrowful

by Helen Truesdell

I WAS NOT ALWAYS SORROWFUL.

I was not always sorrowful,
 Nor was I always sad;
Nay, fond hopes once dwelt in my heart,
 And made my spirit glad.

But now those hopes have passed away—
 Hopes far too bright to last;
They faded when the autumn flowers
 Sank 'neath the autumn blast.

Those gentle hopes have passed away—
 Hopes unto mortals given,
That they may have a foretaste, here,
 Of their blest home in heaven.

Oh! once I had a blessed dream,—
 It filled me with delight:—
A vision full of happiness
 Stole o'er me in the night.

I thought the absent and the loved
 Was standing by my side,
In all his youthful loveliness—
 In all his manhood's pride.

At first, amid a crowd be stood;
 But quick to me he came,
And, in his soft, endearing tone,
 He fondly breathed my name.

I started up—I would not lose,
 For worlds, a single word;
For every feeling of my soul
 By that dear voice was stirred.

He said—"Oh! I am happy now,—
 Far happier than when here;
Then cease to wear a saddened brow,
 Or shed for me a tear.

"For could you see my happy home—
 Those mansions of the blest,
Where all can hang confidingly
 Upon their Saviour's breast,

"You would not wish to call me back
 To this dark world of woe;
Not e'en thy voice could bid me stay,—
 Then, dear one, let me go."

Long years have passed since that dear form
 Last lingered on my sight,
And Hope hath woven many a dream
 To cheer the gloom of night;

But never to my spirit yet,
 One, half so sweet, was given,
As that which came with gentle hopes
 To point my soul to heaven.