Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/257

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sweep the waters o'er thee. Thou hast found, 'Mid all the ardour of thy youthful zeal And self-devotion to thy Master's cause, An unexpected bed. The ice-swoln tides Of the Kaskaskia shall no more resound To the wild struggles of thy failing steed In that deep plunge which gave thy soul to God. Say, 'mid thy journeyings o'er the snow-clad waste Of yon lone prairie, on that fearful day, When death was by thy side, where dwelt thy thought? Upon thy angel mission, or the scenes Of thy loved home, with all its sheltering trees And tuneful sound of waters? Didst thou hope, When Heaven's pure seed should blossom in the soil Of the far Illinois, again to sit Around that fire-side and recount thy toils, And mingle prayers with those who fondly nursed Thy tender infancy? Now there are tears In that abode, whene'er thy cherished name Breaks from the trembling lip. Oh! ye who mourn With hoary temples o'er the smitten son, Slain in his Saviour's service, know that pain Shall never vex him more. Peril and change, And winter's blast, and summer's sultry ray,