PARTING.
Reading edition
INSCRIBED TO MY SISTER ADELA M. WADSWORTH.
———
BY MRS. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON.
———
Parting! Oh, is it not the bitterness
Of life, and death? It were small agony
If we and those we love—heart pressed to heart—
With loving words, and blended prayers, could die.
’Tis not the rending of the strings of life
That makes death terrible. The mental pain
Is parting from our dear and beautiful,
Who weep, and pray—and bid us live in vain.
It is not that we fear to close our eyes,
And rest from life’s long labor, that we cling
To pain and weakness. ’Tis fond human love
Which binds our soul with many a quivering string.
To know that we shall never look again
Into those loving eyes—shall never hear
Again those sweet-toned voices—never clasp
Again those forms, so tender, and so dear.
Yes—parting is the bitterness of death—
And life is full of parting. Day by day
We see the cherished of our homes depart,
As fledglings from the bird-nests flit away.
The cherished ones, whom we have called our own,
And loved so many years, that they have grown
Into our hearts, and so become a part
Of all that we have felt, or done, or known.
The ever-present with us, who were wont
To greet us every morning, with a smile,—
To answer to our voices all day long,—
And cheer us with love’s sunlight all the while.
Each hath a separate mission to fulfill,
And when their path diverges from our own,
And they have said farewell! and turned away
From our embrace—oh, then, we are alone!
We miss them in all places, everywhere,
And feel a shadow, and an emptiness
Forever by our side—but most of all
In the departed one’s accustomed place.
We turn to speak to them—they are not there—
The thought we would have uttered curdles back
Upon our heart, a stifling agony—
We turn our tearful gaze along the track
By which the dear one went—’tis desolate—
Our home—our heart—our world is desolate—
In all the places where our joy has been
Dark shades, and weeping memories, congregate.
But when our only one—the dearest, best,
The angel of our household, bids good-bye
And goes forth weeping—then the tortured heart
Reels with the anguish of the broken tie.
Yes—parting is the bitterness of life—
The agony of death—the ban of earth—
The inevitable doom—to love—to part—
Is the condition of our human birth.
Thank God! there is a world where loved ones meet
In perfect beauty, and unclouded joy,
Where all is love—where parting never comes
The everlasting rapture to destroy.
