Mother in the Cloud

Mother in the Cloud

I saw the in the cloud, mother,

Thou smilest on me there:

The sunny wreath—thy shroud mother

Thy grave—the spangled air!

Thy wing, all golden seems, mother,

To span the heavens broad,

And urge thy shining course, mother,

Among the isles of God.

Oh! art thou in the cloud, mother,

That veils Jehovah's throne:

Thy robe, no more the shroud, mother—

Christ's wedding garments on.

Ye form those angel throngs, mother,

That but in dreams appear:

And bathe in floods of song, mother,

That but the blest can hear

Your crown's at Jesus' feet, mother,

Your head's within your wing:

Ye crowd the mercy-seat, mother,

Whose arches ever ring

With raptured songs, too sweet, mother,

For human lips to sing—

"Oh, Grave! where is thy victory?

Oh, Death! where now thy sting?"

Unattributed

1:8, p. 4

9.21.1861