Poems (Truesdell)/The Sick Child's Lament

by Helen Truesdell

THE SICK CHILD'S LAMENT.

"Oh! mother, I am sorrowful;
 There 's sadness in my heart;
I know not why it is, and yet
 All day the tears will start.

"They tell me of a better land;—
 O mother, is it so,
That they who reach those radiant shores,
 No pain or sickness know?

"And, mother, in my sleep, last night.
 There o'er my spirit fell
A strange sweet dream, I scarce know why,
 But fain to thee would tell.

"I thought that, robed in spotless white,—
 A crown upon my head,—
Surrounded by a fairy band
 Of children,—I was led

"By a tall figure, clothed in black—
 A scepter in his hand,
And every one to whom he spoke
 Sprang forth at his command.

"He led us on through darksome scenes,
 And damp unwholesome air;
And then there burst upon my sight,
 A scene so heavenly fair—

"A city, all of purest gold,
 Set round with radiant gems,
And, every place I looked, I saw
 Ten thousand diadems;

"And countless numbers tuned their harps,
 In strains of music sweet;
And angels, bearing golden lyres,
 Came forth our steps to greet.

"They led us to a lofty throne,
 Of ivory and gold:—
But, ah! the beauty of that place
 Must still be all untold;

"For could my childish lips assume
 An angel's heavenly tone,
Fruitless and vain my words would prove,
 And useless be the loan.

"Then wonder not I 'm sorrowful,
 And have been so all day;
For though I love my own dear home,
 I fain would always stay

"Amid those scenes so beautiful,
 So gladdening to the eye:
But, ere I reach that lofty home,
 Dear mother, I must die."

The mother's cheek grew deadly pale,
 Her eyes were filled with tears,
She placed her hand upon her heart,
 As stifling all her fears;

But when she spoke, her words were calm
 As an unruffled stream,
And gentle, tender, pure and kind
 As her own loved one's dream:—

"Thy prayer is heard, my beautiful,
 My loving one and bright!
Thy lips to me too soon will breathe
 Their last—yes, last 'Good night!'"

"Yes, mother, for I hear again
 The music softly flow,
And see the angels beckon me,—
 I 'm weary, and would go

"To join that high and holy throng
 "Who worship there above,—
One kiss, dear mother! 'tis the last,
 Last pledge of earthly love!"

She placed a kiss upon her child.
 In fondness, but in woe;
Then knelt in that deep agony,
 Which none but mothers know.

But when she rose the storm had ceased;
 She felt as one who'd given,
With all its pure and sinless truth,
 An angel back to heaven.