Poems (Ford)/Sister Agnes

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 down
To 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 cast
Upon her calm and pitying face,
And bless her as she passed.

She fell beneath the fearful scourge
Whose pestilential breath
Sweeps 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 worth
We 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.