Gone to God

Gone to God

Finished now the weary throbbing,

Of a bosom calmed to rest;

Laid aside the heavy sorrows,

That for years upon it prest.

All the thirst for pure affection,

All the hunger of the heart;

All the vain and tearful cryings,

All forever now depart.

Clasp the pale and faded fingers,

O'er the cold and lifeless form;

They shall never shrink and shiver,

Homeless in the dark and storm.

Press the death-weights calmly, gently,

O'er the eyelids in their sleep;

They shall tremble from them,

They shall never wake to weep.

Close the silent lips together

Lips once parted with a sigh;

Through their sealed, moveless portals,

Ne'er shall float a bitter cry.

Bring no bright and blooming flowers,

Let no mournful tears be shed,

Funeral flowers, tears of sorros,

They are for the cherished dead.

She has been a lonely wanderer.

Drifting on the world's highway;

Grasping with her woman's nature,

Feeble reed to be her stay.

God is witness to the anguish,

Of a heart that's all alone;

Floating blindly on life's current,

Only bound unto His throne.

But o'er such, Death's solemn angel

Broodeth with a sheltering wing;

Till the hopeless hand's grown weary;

Cease around earth's toys to cling.

Then kind hands will elasp them gently,

On the still, unaching breast;

Softly treading by, they'll whisper,

Of the lone one gone to rest.

Frances Ellen Watkins (Frances Ellen Watkins Harper)

1:4, p. 123

1859.04