Edith

Bound in the dreamless slumber of the tomb—
     Resting in quiet with the quiet dead—
Faded from cheek and lip life’s roseate bloom—
     From lovely clay the lovelier spirit fled—
So hath she mingled with Death’s numberless throng,
     With them co-tenant of the populous grave—
Oh deep will be her slumber—deep and long,
     While o’er her head the tall rank grass shall wave!

And this is Edith’s grave/ Oh many a tear
     Hath quickened the young grass that crowns its sod——
A stricken heart hath poured its anguish here,
     And looked for comfort to the mourner’s God!
Tread lightly, stranger—for the love, the young
     Sleeps, cold and still, beneath thee—wake her not!
Here have the wizard-wins her requiem sung—
     Tread lightly, stranger—‘tis a hallowed spot!

Brief was thy stay with us, oh, gentlest one!
     Beautiful idol of a widowed heart—
Sweet soother of a mourning mother—gone
     Swiftly—for ever! Thus the loved depart!
Thou wert too beautiful, too bright a blossom
     For the cold winds of earth to sere and dim,
And ere a care had crossed thy guileless bosom
     Thy Heavenly Father called thee home to Him!

Yet had the friends around thee fondly deemed
     That thou wouldst bless them with thy looks of love,
And with the music of that voice, which seemed
     The echo of some seraph-song above,—
When long and weary years had passed away,
     And cast a shadow on their loveliness—
And as they hastened onward to decay
     Thy presence should be with them still to bless

How are those ardent hopes for ever withered!
     How hath departed that fond mother’s trust!
Her last, bright blossom to the grave is gathered,
     And life’s gay dreams lie shattered in the dust!
The holy light that cheered her path is faded
     In the cold darkness that pervades the tomb,
And the bright wreath of joy her fancy braided,
     Is torn and scattered by a cruel doom!

Yet, mother! think not as thou bendest o’er
     The grave’s dark brink, thy child is mouldering there—
Her spirit resteth on a happier shore,
     And floats her triumph-song on Heaven’s air!
How would thy heart leap when her face was bright!
     And now no cloud of grief can dim her brow—
Her songs would thrill thy bosom with delight,
     Angels enraptured listen to them now!

Joy, and not tears, for Edith!—for her lot
     Is bright and blessed! Early hath she flow,
Where pain, or sin, or sorrow cometh not—
     The God who loved her, claims her as His own!
Look upward, Mother!—for her home is there,
     Amid the saved, the ransomed, the forgiven—
Look upward, mourning mother! and prepare
To meet the loved one of thy soul in Heaven!