Classic Poem

Low the flowing crops bent,
With their fulness content;
And many a sickle was sent
Into the rustling fields,
While the gay reaper wields
The bounty which God yields
In his goodness to man.
But as I heard these reapers sing,
Thought not Death's reaper would bring
To me sorrow so soon;
Thought not he would come and remove
The one dearest object of love,
The earth's greatest boon,
From my presence away.
Hallowed shall be that day,
In memory alway
Most dear unto me;
For, though I did not see
The angel of death near,
She may have seen
His sable garments peer
From the long ranks of time,
And heard his voice chime,
"I shall come to bring thee
Unto eternity."
Dead! dead!
Oh! bid
My trembling heart be still.
It cannot brook this ill;
This strange and burdened truth
It cannot bear.
The brightness of my youth
It chills to hear.
Ah me! and has she gone,
Who in sickness watched me long,
Smoothed my pillow, hushed the throng,
And said
To childhood's fears, "Begone!"
Who in error chid,
And would gently bid
A rising rage be still,
Or check a stubborn will,
In childhood seeming ill.
I think I see her now
(The smile upon her brow)
Sit in the woody shade,
Adown the rural glade,
So full in song.
And watch her fondled boy,
With some much cherished toy,
Run raptured long.
Ah yes! too truly she hath gone.
The vacant seat to fill
There is none other, there is none
To take her place.
A mother lost
Is ever most
A home can bear.
Can time never more
That image restore?
Has that voice gone to keep
Its long silent sleep
With the dead in the grave?
She whom God hath said
Should have reverence paid,
Here on the earth,
All of her birth,
Called to give honor,
Long life the donor,
God hath said shall have.
Dead, they all tell me.
So strange, it doth seem
Like a vision befel me--
A wonderful dream,
That I no more may breathe
That name ever dear,
Save in a mournful voice
Hushed silent in fear.