Poems (Ford)/Sister Agnes

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SISTER AGNES.
There is a home where oft is missed A frank and joyous smile,A fair young face undimmed by care, A heart untouched by guile,And thoughtful eyes that seemed to see Into the future far,As through the midnight darkness looks The clear eye of a star.
To that young heart sweet Mercy spoke From heaven's bright portals high,And in their weariness she heard Earth's suffering children cry, ​And, bidding friends and home farewell, She cast life's pleasures downTo follow the meek, lowly One Who wore the thorny crown.
Far from the loving hearts at home, Far from her native land,In patient cheerfulness she toiled With brave, untiring hand,And many a sin-stained soul looked up To her in hope and love,And by her saintly life was led To think on heaven above.
The weary sufferer, tossing wild Upon the couch of pain,With aching limbs, and throbbing heart, And fever-heated brain,Would listen for her soothing voice, And grateful glances castUpon her calm and pitying face, And bless her as she passed.
She fell beneath the fearful scourge Whose pestilential breathSweeps o'er the sunny Southern land As with the wings of death;Where friends from friends in terror fled, Her fearless step had come, ​And 'mid the dying and the dead The angels called her home.
Her hands are folded from their works Of mercy and of love—One saint the less on earth below, One angel more above;Sad tears bedew the lowly grave Where, peacefully and calm,Far from her native land, she sleeps, Where waves the Southern palm.
Young martyr at sweet Mercy's shrine, In thy pure spirit's worthWe see that Eden's loveliness Has not all fled from earth,While, day by day, life's thorny paths Are yet by angels trod,Whose pure lives win our stubborn souls To follow them to God.
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