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ONE YEAR AGO

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Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Mar 22, 1877

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 49, No. 12.

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ONE YEAR AGO.

By Mary A. Davis

To-night are the wild winds sighing Above the lowly dead; To-night my sad heart crying Will not be comforted.
One year ago we gathered On such a night of storm, In sadness, heavy-hearted, Round our dying mother’s form.
To-night the words she uttered At the gate of the Silent Land, Come to me through the darkness Like an angel’s guiding hand:
“Make the pathway bright for father, Let us meet, dear ones, at home, A reunited circle, When the gathering time shall come.
“Soon I shall join the sleepers, The children gone before; I shall meet them, I shall greet them, On the immortal shore.
“Oh! the love of God unspoken! ’Tis a mighty, boundless sea; That blessed peace unbroken, It shall encompass thee.”
We saw the shadows gather, Death’s seal upon her brow;— “In the dark valley, mother, Is the Saviour with you now?”
She caught the name of Jesus, And the pale lips answered slow, “Yes, yes, he is ever with me; I’m weary, and long to go.”
She is gone! but her memory lingers Round each dear familiar spot, A holy influence breathing, In our hearts to perish not.
We miss her loving welcome As we meet around the hearth, And her glad smile when at morning Life’s duties call us forth.
We miss her, oh! how sadly! At the sacred hour of prayer, When her faith to Heaven upreaching Oft led our spirits there.
Be ours her strong petition, “‘Neath the Refiner’s care Though the cleansing flame be kindled, Let us thine image bear.”
They laid her by another,— My mate in childhood’s years, Too frail for life’s heavy burden, Weary with pain and tears.
O sister, nearest, dearest! My tears unbidden flow, So far away, so near me, One little year ago.
Veiled now the brown eyes shining, Silent the gentle tone; In our home is hushed the music, For the birds of song have flown.
We mourn for the friends we cherished, The forms in the dust laid low, For hope’s bright flowers perished In the winter and the snow.
Yet we trust the Love supernal, Our hearts to His promise cling; They shall waken, fair, eternal, In the glad, soon-coming Spring.
And we turn our faltering glances From the path which here they trod, To the rest beyond the conflict, To the Sabbath of our God.
There may we safe be gathered, Where no raging tempests beat— No heart from kindred severed— No weary, wandering feet.
There shall be no more sighing, There shall no tears be shed, No farewells to the dying, No mourning for the dead.
MARY A. DAVIS.
Battle Creek, Mich., March 17, 1877.