In Memory of my Father

DEAR father mine, thy grave is far away—Soft, sunny skies, bend warm and lovinglyAbove thy dreamless slumber, and the wavesOf a far southern stream sweep by, and bearIn their low tones a message and a sighFrom thy unhappy child.

My father dear,These eyes have never gazed upon thy grave,These hands have never taught the sweet Spring-roseTo bloom on that neglected spot; butWithin my soul there is a holy flower,A flower perennial, watered with my tears,And kissed to bloom by the sweet beam of love—Father, that flower is memory of thee.Years, weary, anxious years have passed o'er earth,And shadowed in their course young, loving hearts,Since that bright morning when we saw thee goForth in the beauty of thy glorious prime,Bearing to thy far southern home a fairAnd gentle bride. Oh, father, thou didst kissThy little prattler with a beaming smile,And give her to thy mother's holy care;But even then I heard a faint, low sigh,Which sadly fell upon my ear and heart,The omen of a coming agony.

They tell me that a fair, young stranger girl,Who knew thee not, has placed a sweet wildroseTo shed its gentle fragrance o'er thy dust.Her pitying heart was deeply touched to lookOn thy neglected sleep, and, with the pureSweet instinct of a daughter, she placed flowersUpon thy lonely grave. My deep heart breathesA blessing upon hers. Oh may no griefsE'er fall upon her life like those which restSo dark on mine.

Oh father, my poor heartIs lone and sad to-night. In agony'Tis calling to thee in thy distant grave.I am an orphan lone, and, when my browIs fevered and my heart oppressed, I fainWould fly to thee; I would pour out my griefBeside thy mouldering ashes; I would weepBeside the cold grave-stone, and on the earOf Death would breathe a stricken daughter's woe.My spirit calls to thine—oh come to meIn this lone hour, and let me know once moreA father's holy love. Ah, now a strangeMysterious thrill comes o'er my soul; I feelA spirit's presence father, is it thine!Yes, it is thine, I see thee, and through allThe trembling fibres of my frame I feelThat hallowed kiss. Stay, blessed father, stay,And leave me never more alone on thisCold desert of the earth. If thou must go,Dear father, fold thy angel-wings aroundThy child, and bear her to thy far blue home,To rest for ever with our God and thee.

Bedford, Ky