Poems by Rebekah Smith Part 6

My lot has been to learn Of friendship false, that bright will burn When fortune spreads her wing of light, But fades away when cometh night.

Oh! yonder I see a bright star sparkling, While all around lies cold and darkling.

Dear mother! as the star thou art in weal or wo, The darker the night, the brighter the glow.

My lot has been to pore Learning's cla.s.sic pages o'er; Seeking for hidden pearls to wear, Fame's golden wreath, the victors bear.

Oh! yonder I see a lone bird flying, Seeking her nest with voice of sighing.

Dear mother! as the wearied bird her downy nest, So seek I thee, for quiet rest.

My lot is now to tread A troubled path whence light hath fled; But ne'er do I thy words forget, Or smiles of love from thee I've met.

I think of thee in morning's beaming light, In burning noon and shadowy night.

Dear mother! mid all my thoughtless wanderings wild, Still clings to thee thy devoted child.

Whate'er my future lot may be, On life's tempestuous trackless sea, Oh, may I never, where'er I roam, Forget the cheering light of home, That blessed light to the wanderer given, To guide the way that leads to Heaven.

Dear mother! to thee may I cling till life is o'er, And united above--we part nevermore.

Response.

Dear Annie:

What though thy lot has been to bear Much adverse fate, 'mid toil and care, Raised expectations crushed and dead, And hope's triumphant visions fled?

Dost thou not feel a mightier power, A hand divine in this dark hour?

Does not thy heart begin to feel The claims of Him who wounds to heal?

'Tis true, my child, misfortune's blast But breaks the rock whence gems are cast; The polished steel and marble white, Was once as rough and dark as night.

As purest gold and clearest gla.s.s Must through the hottest furnace pa.s.s, So oft repeated strokes are given, To form and fit a soul for Heaven.

What though you've learned of envy's wiles, The slanderous tongue, which oft beguiles?

The sweetest fruit on bush and trees, Is culled and plucked by birds and bees.

Although you've traced the landscape fair, And sought for knowledge rich and rare, Gone to the depth of hidden ore, That richest mine you might explore,

Lines "To my Mother," more I prize Than all the paintings 'neath the skies; And they will ever bring to me, Dear child, sweet memories of thee.

Although I prize the painter's art, Yet more th' effusions of the heart; Kind feelings, sympathy and love, All arts and wealth I prize above.

Since then these trials but refine, Bring out deep caverns' hidden mine, Resign all to that power on high, Till sufferings cease and sorrows die.

Lines

To a mother whose son enlisted in the army.

For a mother to part, for the war, with a son, Whose kindness and love her affections have won, Cannot but excite deep emotions of grief, And in tears the torn bosom will seek for relief.

Commend, in submission, this loved son to Heaven, And thank Him who gave, that to you he was given; That he leaves here a circle of a.s.sociates dear, Who his memory and name will delight to revere.

In the family circle his place will be missed, And some may regret that he felt to enlist, While others look forward, still hoping to see Him back in the choir, where his place used to be.

If G.o.d has a work for him still here to do, His eye will be on him to bring him safe through.

He will suffer no harm to befall him while there; As a man spares his own son, so G.o.d will him spare.

But nought of the future to us is revealed; His destiny and ours is most wisely concealed; 'Tis for us to submit; be our lot what it may, And all the requirements of Heaven obey.

Lines

Read at a gathering of the oldest people of Wilton, at Miss Sarah Livermore's, November, 1870.

Now far advanced in life we're here, To visit one long held most dear; Though we have all been young and gay, Time's rolling years have worked decay.

Though lingering here on earth's broad sh.o.r.e, Life's journey must be nearly o'er; And may this friendly, gathering call, A blessing prove to one and all.

Convened here, then, be this our aim, To make each other glad we came; In union these rich blessings share, And say, 'Twas good that we were there.

Refreshed, we'd patiently pursue This last part of our journey through.

On those who entertain these guests, Would ask that they be doubly blest.

We would not fail while here to see All we're required to do and be.

Would advocate and teach the right, Still hastening toward perfection's hight.

Earth's pleasures then will be increased By this delightful, social feast, And we prepared to meet in Heaven, Where joys eternal will be given.

Lines

On the death of my husband, Samuel Smith.

Gone is my husband, no more shall I see That kind look of love as he smiled upon me.

I cherished and loved him; and who can tell My anguish while on his departure I dwell?

Long I have been with him, in sickness and health, Shared in his losses, and enjoyed with him wealth; He lives in my memory, lives in my heart, His virtues are printed there, ne'er to depart.

Fast were we joined by the tenderest ties, And lonely I mourn o'er the grave where he lies.

I hear not his steps, but the lone place I see, Where oft his kind words have been spoken to me.

I miss him while gather the shadows of night; I miss him when dawns the fair morning light.

I miss him--but where are the words to express The depth of my grief in such loneliness.