Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/205

Rh —With silent course Unostentatious as the heaven-shed dew Thy bounties fell; nor didst thou scatter gifts Or utter prayers with pharisaic zeal For man to note.—Thy praise was with thy God. In that domestic sphere where Nature rears Woman's meek throne, thy worth was eminent; Nor breath'd thy goodness o'er cold, stoic hearts.— What gentleness was thine,—what kind regard, To him thou lov'dst what dove-like tenderness In voice and deed.—Almost Disease might bear Its lot without repining,—wert thou near Beside its pillow, or around its couch Like ministering angel. —Scarce had Spring Which shed its damp dews o'er thy daughter's grave Return'd,—ere thou wert waiting to ascend Like her, to that bright host, whose ceaseless harps Hymn the Redeemer.—She was as a rose Gather'd in loveliness, mid perfumed flowers And warbling birds of love,—yet drooping still For the pure breath of that celestial clime Where summer hath no cloud.—She, with firm hand Grasp'd the strong hope of everlasting life, And thou,—in trembling, yet confiding trust, Didst dare the waves of death's tempestuous flood With the same anchor.—So, thou art at rest, Where trouble comes not;—though thine image lives With grieving love.— But peace!—thou pensive strain,— How vain to mourn o'er their repose, who warn The musing idler, and the man of care,—