If the great love of many hearts could save
The loved from death, our Darling had not died!
If prayers could shut the pathway to the grave
Still would her steps be with us, side by side!
Ah! naught availed against the doom decreed,
Our clinging loves and never-resting care!
Nor the strong trust that in our utmost need
Relenting fate would turn aside, and spare!
So much of Heaven was tempted in that form,
So much angelic beauty in that face,
Such wealth of sweetness made that deep heart warm,
We clothed the mortal with immortal grace.
The constant mind that would not shrink or swerve
From duty’s path, though led through miry ways,
The willing hands each humble need to serve,
Taught even the rudest lips to breathe her praise
The sweet, low music of her mellow voice
The luminous cheer of her entrancing smiles,
The woman’s gracious dignity and poise,
Drew all our hearts with their unconscious wiles.
Alas for us! those sunny smiles are quenched!
Those welcome feet are bound in icy death;
For these blind eyes our eyes in tears are drenched
These loving lips are dumb, without a breath!
No more her feet shall tread the paths of men;
No more our eyes shall kindle at her glance;
These lips can bring no loving kiss again,
Nor love illume that pallid countenance!
The poor street-waif will miss her gentle care;
The broken home no gift of earth can fill’
Her place left vacant in the house of prayer,
For many a year will seem to mourn her still.
What then from all this piteous wreck remains?
What healing hangs upon this cruel cross?
A voice replied: – Sad Mourners, count your gains,
And make them strength to bear the bitter loss.
What made this dust so precious, pure and sweet?
What gave her radiant face its power to bless?
What heavenly influx nerved her willing feet
To bring good tiding to forlon distress?
Love deep and holy, faith in God and man,
A soul of goodness never born of clay,
A thirst for knowledge, bounty that outran
The wants that throng the walks of every day.
These are sacred graces from on high;
Flesh gave them not; with flesh they perish not;
They are the life of God, and cannot die!
They shaped the soul that shared our mortal lot!
That soul is with us, evermore to bless;
A hallowing memory, and a form unseen;
Sometimes our souls may feel her soft caress
And grief melt gently into bliss serene!
O Father, Mother, Sister, Consort, Friends,
Our loss is great, but boundless was her worth;
She bears to Heaven a treasure that transcends
The mortal form, as soul surpasses earth!
George Shepard Burleigh
