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John Greenleaf Whittier - The Friend’s BurialJohn Greenleaf Whittier - The Friend’s Burial
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My thoughts are all in yonder town, Where, wept by many tears, To-day my mother`s friend lays down The burden of her years. True as in life, no poor disguise Of death with her is seen, And on her simple casket lies No wreath of bloom and green. Oh, not for her the florist`s art, The mocking weeds of woe; Dear memories in each mourner`s heart Like heaven`s white lilies blow. And all about the softening air Of new-born sweetness tells, And the ungathered May-flowers wear The tints of ocean shells. The old, assuring miracle Is fresh as heretofore; And earth takes up its parable Of life from death once more. Here organ-swell and church-bell toll Methinks but discord were; The prayerful silence of the soul Is best befitting her. No sound should break the quietude Alike of earth and sky O wandering wind in Seabrook wood, Breathe but a half-heard sigh! Sing softly, spring-bird, for her sake; And thou not distant sea, Lapse lightly as if Jesus spake, And thou wert Galilee! For all her quiet life flowed on As meadow streamlets flow, Where fresher green reveals alone The noiseless ways they go. From her loved place of prayer I see The plain-robed mourners pass, With slow feet treading reverently The graveyard`s springing grass. Make room, O mourning ones, for me, Where, like the friends of Paul, That you no more her face shall see You sorrow most of all. Her path shall brighten more and more Unto the perfect day; She cannot fail of peace who bore Such peace with her away. O sweet, calm face that seemed to wear The look of sins forgiven! O voice of prayer that seemed to bear Our own needs up to heaven! How reverent in our midst she stood, Or knelt in grateful praise! What grace of Christian womanhood Was in her household ways! For still her holy living meant No duty left undone; The heavenly and the human blent Their kindred loves in one. And if her life small leisure found For feasting ear and eye, And Pleasure, on her daily round, She passed unpausing by, Yet with her went a secret sense Of all things sweet and fair, And Beauty`s gracious providence Refreshed her unaware. She kept her line of rectitude With love`s unconscious ease; Her kindly instincts understood All gentle courtesies. An inborn charm of graciousness Made sweet her smile and tone, And glorified her farm-wife dress With beauty not its own. The dear Lord`s best interpreters Are humble human souls; The Gospel of a life like hers Is more than books or scrolls. From scheme and creed the light goes out, The saintly fact survives; The blessed Master none can doubt Revealed in holy lives.
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