Poems (Helen Jenkins)/First Impressions of Death

​
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF DEATH.
A neighbor's child was breathing Its precious life away;And, to their rustic cottage, I went the night to stay.
Watching beside the mother In the dimly-lighted room,A child of dreams and fancies, I felt and feared the gloom.
Through the low, uncurtained windows, Peered the blackness of the night;Nor moon, nor star, through rifted cloud, Sent in its cheering light.
The firelight filled with spectres Each shadowy recess.What death was like, I did not know— I could not even guess.
Oh, where was God? I felt adrift Upon a shoreless sea.I could not, dared not question This dreadful mystery.
​
The stillness was unbroken, Save by a word or sigh,—Or were the angels round us, Singing baby's lullaby?
Was it a dream? My listening ear The softest whispers heard;While, over all the darkness, shone The glory of the Lord—
A heavenly light, dispelling All gloomy fear and dread,Although I heard them whisper So low, "Baby is dead."
I left the lowly cottage In the morning's early light,—The weary little wanderer Had fluttered out of sight,—
And death, that dreaded presence, So dimly understood,Was forgotten in the vision Of ever present good.


This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.