WAITING THE CHANGE. Though some, whose presence once Not they, but what they wore The veil of flesh that hid More clearly I behold them now Than those who never died. Who died what means that word Of men so much abhorred? Caught up in clouds of heaven to be Forever with the Lord! To give this body, racked For one as glorious and as fair, To leave our shame and sin, To run, to leap, to walk, To quit our beds of pain, And live where the inhabitants Are never sick again; 347 To sit no longer dumb, Nor halt, nor blind; to rise To praise the Healer with our tongue, To leave cold winter snows, And burning summer heats, And walk in soft, white, tender light, Thank God! for all my loved, Have safely reached the heavenly heights, And stay to meet me there! Not these I mourn; I know THOU AND I. STRANGE, strange for thee and me Thou safe beyond, above, I 'neath the star ; Thou where flowers deathless Spring, I where they fade; Thou in God's paradise, I 'mid time's shade! SPRING FLOWERS.1 O SWEET and charitable friend, Has brought the spring-time and the woods, It rests my weary, aching eyes, I know not which I love the most, The timid, bashful violet, Or the royal-hearted rose : The pansy in her purple dress, For I love and prize you one and all, And when my soul considers these, I marvel how we shall be clothed 1 The last poem written by Phoebe Cary. |