Zinzendorff and Other Poems/Burial of two Young Sisters, the only Children of their Parents
BURIAL OF TWO YOUNG SISTERS, THE ONLY CHILDREN OF THEIR PARENTS.
They're, in this turf-bed—those tender forms,
So kindly cherished, and so fondly loved—
They're here.
Sweet sisters! pleasant in their lives,
And not in death divided. Sure 'tis meet
That blooming ones should linger, and learn
How quick the transit to the silent tomb.
I do remember them, their pleasant brows
So mark'd with pure affections, and the glance
Of their mild eyes, when in the house of God,
They gathered up the manna, that did fall,
Like dew, around.
The eldest parted first—
And it was touching even to tears, to see
The perfect meekness of that child-like soul,
Turning 'mid sorrow's chastening to its God,
And loosening every link of earthly hope,
To gird an angel's glorious garments on.
The younger lingered yet a little while,
Drooping and beautiful. Strongly the nerve
Of that lone spirit clasped its parent-prop;
Yet still in timid tenderness embraced
The Rock of Ages—while the Saviour's voice
Confirmed its trust: "Suffer the little ones
To come to me."
And then her sister's couch
Undrew its narrow covering—and those forms,
Which side by side, on the same cradle-bed,
So often shared the sleep of infancy,
Were laid on that clay pillow, cheek to cheek
And hand to hand, until that morning break,
Which hath no night.
And ye are left alone,
Who nurtured those fair buds, and often said
Unto each other, in the hour of care—
"These same shall comfort us for all our toil."
Yes, ye are left alone. It is not ours
To heal such wound. Man hath too weak a hand—
All he can give, is tears.
But he who took
Your treasures to his keeping: He hath power
To bear you onward to that better land,
Where none are written childless, and torn hearts
Blend in a full eternity of bliss.