Classic Poem

INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. A. A. F.

The stars were shining in the evening sky,
As I, a stranger, entered aTher door.
She welcomed me with smile so full of peace
I trusted her sweet spirit from that hour.
My hand I gave her in unfaltering faith
That she would be my friend in life and death.

I scarce knew why; but ever from that hour,
When first I saw her placid face, I grew
To love her smile, her voice, her pleasant ways,
Until she was a friend no longer new:
And, clinging to her like a weary child,
I sighed to be like her, the pure and mild.

Last time I looked upon that face so dear,
'Twas marble-like in coldness, pale and still:
No answering look the closed eyes gave to cheer,
There was no smile my loving heart to thrill.
Within the coffin, flower-decked, still she lay, —
The form, I mean, — the soul had passed away.

Which was the last time ? When her eyes met mine
That sabbath morn, and smiled her love once more,
Ere the death-angel, sent by love divine,
Bore her freed spirit to the shining shore;
Or when I stood her open grave beside,
And smoothed the dark locks of my pastor's bride?

Next time , — thank God! there is a glad next time,
When I shall look upon my friend again, —
Shall see her radiant 'mid the white-robed throng,
And hear her voice in some sublime refrain.
She ever loved to sing the songs of Zion:
She sings them now where reigneth Judah's Lion.

Next time, and not far off that blessed hour,
My hand shall gently touch her noble brow:
She'll greet me with her own sweet voice and smile.
How thrills my heart with that glad prospect now
Pass on, ye seasons! bring the summer hour;
When I shall greeTher in some heavenly bower.