Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/101

100

A christian friend, in the last moments of life, when it was supposed all communication with mortals had ceased—spelt, with her fingers, in the dialect of the deaf and dumb, the word—"Mother."

' o'er!—'Tis o'er! That lip of gentle tone Doth speak to man no more; It hath given the parting kiss To him with whom was learned to prove The climax of terrestial bliss, Deep, and confiding love; It hath sighed its last bequest On the weeping sister's breast, Its work is done.

The soul doth wait for thee, Redeemer!—strong to save Thy ransomed from the grave, It waiteth to be free. Still, on the darkened eye It lingereth, wishful to convey One message more, to frail mortality, Then soar away.

There is no breath to speak, No life-blood in the cheek, Listening Love doth strive in vain Those pearls of thought to gain,