Poems Sigourney 1827/Birth-Day of both my Parents
BIRTH-DAY OF BOTH MY PARENTS.
Hail hallow'd morn!—made sacred by their birth,
Who fondly o'er my waking dream of life,
Like guardian angels hung. Serene thou bear'st
Upon thy radiant wing the vivid trace
Of years departed, weaving round those forms
For whom this lay of filial love I breathe,
The tissued robe of recollected joy.—
—Bright o'er those mists and shadows which involve
This vestibule of being, they dispensed
Light, like that star which lifts her gentle lamp
O'er dewy dawn, fair herald of the day.
Amid the doubtful bliss of infancy,
Its mingled smile and tear, its lisping tone,
And faltering step, and claim on sleepless love,
I see their ministry. Mid brighter scenes,
The wild, loud laugh of childhood, the gay smile
With which exulting youth hastes forth to prove
The charms of nature, and the arts of man,
Through every change when pain or pleasure breathed
Its spirit too intensely o'er a heart
Wayward and full of hope,—I mark them still
Bending with tireless sympathy. The hand
That labor 'd for my good,—the eye that wept
My slight adversity,—the soul whose chord
Vibrated to my touch,—the tuneful hymn,
The holy prayer that bless'd our evening couch,
Were theirs;—the uncancell'd, everlasting debt
Of gratitude be mine.—Oh Guides revered!
Though with too fond idolatry ye clung
Around your only one,—too oft transform'd
By love's most subtle alchymy, her faults
To fancied virtues,—yet your faithful voice
Has warn'd from error, and your dreaded glance
Darted repentance to her heart, when vice
Had overtaken it, and still ye toil'd
To train her as a servant of your Lord.
—Together now, with lingering steps ye tread
That steep, declining path of life which leads
Down to the flood of Jordan.—Oh my God!
Now in the feebleness of hoary hairs
Forsake them not. On this their natal day
Lift up the glory of thy countenance,
And bid their childless home, their lonely breasts,
Glow with that cheering radiance which now gilds
Yon chambers of the east.—Whate'er they need,
The gift of healing, or the light of faith,
Or confidence of prayer, vouchsafe to grant;
And all that measureless and priceless love
Which o'er my earthly journey they have strewn,
Shed thou again on them. Hast thou not said
A mother's kindness to her new-born babe,
Weigh'd with thy mercy to the trusting soul,
Was but forgetfulness?—Therefore I rest
My cause with thee,—for thou hast been their trust
Onward from blooming youth, and years mature
To weary age. What is a daughter's prayer
Though steep'd in all the agony of tears,
Compared with the compassions of a God!
—Be still, my soul!—and at the altar's foot
Kneel in adoring gratitude, nor fear
To trust that wisdom which hath never err'd,
That love which guides the wounded sparrow's fall,
And that eternal truth on which the arch
Of heaven is rear'd, and heaven's rejoicing host
Hang all their fulness of immortal bliss.