Classic Poem

The will of the Lord be done!
But my burning tears will start,
And from morning's dawn to the setting sun,
I walk in the ways of life like one
With a bruised and bleeding heart.

I remember, as in a dream,
That the sunshine once was bright;
That I loved the stars and golden gleam
That barred the valley and bound the stream
On a purple summer night.

I remember the birds and flowers
That came in the sweet spring time,
When I threaded a path through fairy bowers.
And hand in hand with the long bright hours.
Went weaving some simple rhyme.

And then (oh, the days were fleet!)
I remember a cottage hearth,
Where I heard the patter of little feet,
And the voice of my darling, low and sweet,
That I hear no more on earth.

She staid but a little while
In the garb that mortals wear,
And we never knew till we missed her smile
And the tender love that knew no guile,
That an angel had been there.

She was tired and needed rest
When her earthly task was done,
And the folded robe on her gentle breast
Trembles no more with her heart's unrest,
Since the crown of life is won.

She sleeps with the bright brown hair
Shading her pale, pure brow,
And her face has a meek, forgetful air,
Like that of a saint absorbed in prayer,
From life and its interests now.

She went in the dreary night,
And she seemed to go alone,
For we could not see, with our human sight,
The angels that guided her steps aright
To the feet of the Holy One.

She will open her weary eyes,
That were closed so dim and cold,
To behold, with wonder and glad surprise,
The beautiful fields of Paradise,
And the streets of burnished gold;

To see, by the jasper light,
The throne of the great I Am;
And the walls of beryl and chrysolite,
And the martyred saints in robes of white,
That follow the blessed Lamb.

And there, where the ransomed dwell,
And the weary find repose,
I shall meet the darling I loved so well,
With a love that tongue can never tell—
That only a mother knows.