DYING? Evelyn, darling! Dying? can it be? Spring so joyous all around, @3Such@1 a spring, so early crowned, Heralding all summer glee, Life for everything but thee! Evelyn, darling, dying? Yet it is no phantom sound, Though the word is haunting me; Thou art lying Now where life and death do meet, Thorny path and golden street. I thought I had no heart to write, But the pencil near me lay, Which has traced me many a day, Dipped in colors dark or bright, Lays I guessed would meet the sight Of at least some loving eye, And perchance be heard again, Winning echoes far and nigh, Touching chords of sympathy In the weary souls of men. And I took it in my hand, For it seemed to be relief, After this long week of grief, Just to let the thought expand, And the word that haunted me Just to write; though none shall see What is written, only He Who is gently leading Thee, Evelyn, darling, without fears, Through the vale of death,—and me Through the vale of tears. All so calm;—a hazy veil Falling on the golden west; Silence, like a minstrel pale, Preluding the Sabbath rest. There is night before the dawn Rise for @3us@1 of Sabbath morn: Is there any night for @3thee@1 Ere thine eyes the glory see? Are the angels, bright and strong, Bearing thy free soul away, Teaching thee the glad new song, On the grand star-paven way? Art thou even now at rest, Lying on the Saviour's breast? Evelyn, darling, is it so? Would, oh, would that I could know! I can only wait in sorrow For the tidings of the morrow. Evelyn, darling, laid so low! Only three short months ago Thou wert full of life and glee, Round the laden Christmas tree; Foremost in the carol-singing, Fun and frolic gaily flinging. Tallest, fairest of the troop, Opening rose on slender stem, Reigning 'mid the bright-eyed group, Queen without a diadem; In thy robe of snowy sheen, Decked with silken emerald green. Few there are who ever knew Merrier holidays than thine, Whether summer breezes blew, Or the winter stars did shine. Evelyn, darling, can it be, Was that Christmas tree the last? How believe it, that for thee Christmas holidays are past! And that summer leaves will wave, And the Easter moon will shine, Over the first household grave, First,—and @3thine!@1 I am not praying,—prayer is hushed, God's hand is laid upon my heart; The earthly hope for ever crushed. The heavenly @3answered,@1 not in part, But fully, perfectly! I prayed For life, and He hath given the life Which triumphs o'er the grave's cold shade; For peace, and He hath ended strife And spoken love. There have been tears And earnest pleadings through long years; But He is faithful to His word, I @3know@1 at last that He has heard. But not, oh not as I had thought In ignorant and selfish love, The Master calls,—she tarries not, For He hath need of her above. The lambs He gathers with His arm, No grief, no sin, no death can harm, So safely folded on His breast, Forever and forever blest. Could God Himself give more? His will @3Is@1 best, though we are weeping still. Yet the old cry comes again, Evelyn, darling, dying! Is it true, or is it dreaming? Is it only ghastly seeming Of a sorrow far away, Not to fall for many a day? If I saw thee lying, I might realize it so! Last I saw thee in the glow Of thy brightest health and bloom; Was it only for the tomb? Then the sorrow grows with this— Not a word of fond good-bye, Not one tender parting kiss, Not one glance of loving eye! Well I know it could not be! God's appointed way for me Was assuredly—'Be still, Wait in silence for His will.' Father, I have said Amen, Said it often, now again! Father, strengthen it and seal! Let my weary spirit feel I am very near to Thee, For Thy hand is laid on me,— Though the shadows gather deep, Thou canst calm and aid and keep. Father, where the shadows fall Deeper yet, deepest of all, Send Thy peace, and show Thy power In affliction's direst hour; To each mourning heart draw near, Soothe and bless, sustain and cheer. Thou @3wilt@1 hear, I know not @3how!@1 Thou canst help, 'and only Thou.' This my prayer I leave with Thee. Father! hear and answer me For the sake of Him who knows All our love and all our woes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN WILL LOVE COME? by PAKENHAM THOMAS BEATTY SOME VERSES UPON THE BURNING OF OUR HOUSE JULY 10, 1666 by ANNE BRADSTREET THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 52. WILLOWWOOD (4) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 3. TO A FRIEND UNSUCCESSFUL IN LOVE by MARK AKENSIDE DEATH AT DAYBREAK by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 10. A CATALOGUE OF CERTAINE OF HIS BOOKES by RICHARD BARNFIELD TAKE YOUR CHOICE: AS EDGAR LEE MASTERS WOULD HANDLE IT. HILDA HYDE by BERTON BRALEY |