Her Name

'Tis a name I love to trace, 
Simple, brief, and full of grace; 
Two short syllables, they lie 
Like a flower beneath my eye. 
Sweetly beautiful and bright, 
Giving a serene delight: 
Linked with thoughts of summer hours, 
When the winds caress the flowers; 
Linked with memories sadly sweet, 
Such as time can ne'er repeat, 
When my life was like a tune 
Played by winds and waves in June, 
Or an angel-chanted psalm 
Heard amid the eternal calm!

Simple name! — yet known to me 
Is its potent witchery! Never note of lute or bird, 
Charmed me like that little word; 
Never did my pulses beat 
To a music half as sweet 
As is that, to me, that dwells 
In those silver syllables!
With a necromantic power
Bring they back a happier hour,
When a kindred soul with mine
Held companionship divine,
And with deepest wisdom fraught
Were the lessons which she taught.

How to bear with evil long;
How to suffer and be strong;
How to wrest from adverse powers
Blessings we may claim as ours;
How to triumph over ill
By a never faltering will;
And, appalled not by the strife,
Tread the solemn march of life,
With a faith serene and high,
Upward to our destiny!
This her lore — and sweet to me
Was her holy ministry,
For her life as rhyme to rhyme
Fitly with her lore kept chime.

Now, as here her name I trace, 
Memory brings us face to face, 
And her eyes, serene and clear, 
Fill with love the atmosphere — 
Dove-like eyes of softest brown. 
Lifted often to my own,
Now with sweetest meaning fraught, 
Bright, anon, with happy thought; 
Humid with their pitying tears, 
Brimmed with splendor from the spheres; 
Changing, as her fancies range — 
Beautiful in every change! 
Never from our western skies 
Gleamed the light in lovelier eyes!

Parted o'er a thoughtful brow, 
Sweeps her hair with graceful flow, 
Falling downward o'er her neck, 
Half to hide, and half to deck, 
While a lustre, warm and fresh, 
Lingers in its silken mesh 
Lovingly, as loath to roam 
From so beautiful a home. 
Pale but fashioned not the less 
To the law of loveliness, 
Is the cheek whose roses fled 
When her early hopes lay dead, 
And her heart in sorrow's strife 
Learned how sad a thing is life.

Ah, my friend! what potent spell 
In thy child-like name doth dwell, 
Thus to sweep o'er memory's track 
And the past to summon back!
Lightly traced, with careless pen, 
Thou art with me once again, 
Sad, and beautiful, and wise, 
Purified by agonies: 
Quiet, gentle, gracious, good, 
All thy soul with love imbued, 
Trusting truth with faith serene, 
Scorning all that's false and mean, 
Yet, with sorrow, pain, and wrong 
Wrestling wearily and long!

Long and wearily, but still,
With unconquerable will,
Wresting from each trial sent
All the latent good it meant,
And though clouds thy sky deform,
Seeking light beyond the storm ;
So, through pain and toil and sorrow,
Looking for a brighter morrow !
And, if God be what we deem,
And, if heaven be not a dream,
Hope, and faith, and love in vain,
And our life a blank inane —
It shall come, thy triumph-hour
In its glory and its power !

Not in vain hath been thy strife 
With the evil things of life!
Not in vain the patient hope 
That hath borne thy spirit up, 
When contumely, scorn, and wrath 
Howled along thine onward path! 
Not in vain thy holy trust 
In the triumph of the just! 
Life hath yet a bliss for thee, 
Love its thrill of ecstasy! 
Peace shall brood with wing benign 
Over heart and home of thine, 
And the rainbow gleam at last, 
On the darkness overpast!