Poems (Gifford)/Ada

ADA.

A fragile form, yet full of native grace;
Delicate cheeks, yet a sweet winsome face;
Soft, sparkling eyes, free utterly from guile;
Lips relaxed ever in a genial smile;
A gentle voice, whose tones, or grave, or gay,
Called the heart's deepest feelings into play;
A sunny presence bright'ning all around;
A life where joy seemed ever to abound,
Where sprang the living water, Christ-bestowed,
Filled the whole being, ay, and overflowed.
This was the Ada that we joyed to know
In days that seem so short a time ago,—
First of three orphan sisters, homeless, lone,
Yet welcoming a friend in everyone.
The rich to her were e'en as kindred near,
The poor no less were brethren, sisters dear;
The aged mirrored back her smile alway,
The children sought her oft to join their play;
She loved them all, and loved all beauteous things,
So merrily was borne on time's swift wings;
Yet often would she lift her wistful eyes
To visions seen by faith beyond the skies,
For she, too, had her share of sorrow here,
(Though the great Antidote was ever near),
And higher aspirations filled her soul
Than could be bounded by an earthly goal.

We said farewell, and ocean bore her hence
Unto a land of purer radiance,
And 'neath the Southern Cross the roses came
Into her cheeks, fresh vigour to her frame;
New friends she found, and life was glad and gay,
But eager was she for home-news alway,
And 'mid the splendour longed to hear again
The nightingale, the robin, and the wren;
To distant loved ones oft her thoughts she turned,
And still for dear, dear England deeply yearned.

She came, the same blithe spirit as of old,
And brightened us with all the tales she told,
Now full of pathos, now with frolic rife,
Now diffuse details of Australian life,
Its social converse, unconstrained and free,
The vast, grand, foamy, iridescent sea,
The giant fields, the haytime in November,
The pic-nics 'mid the gum-trees in December,
The scentless flowers of loveliest, gayest hues,
The croaking frogs, the bounding kangaroos,
The gorgeous, songless birds,—a motley crowd,—
The laughing jackass' notes, so hoarsely loud;—
Then of her interesting journey home,
And of the visit paid to far-famed Rome;
To beauteous Naples, and its mount of fire,
And the old cities, whose fate was so dire;
The whiffs she caught of Ceylon's spicy breeze,
The passage by the now united seas,
Then the safe landing on the homeland shore.
More precious to her now than e'er before.

So face to face we communed happily
On what had been, what was, and what might be;
So, severed links were riveted anew,
And thoughts were interchanged and friendship grew;
But brief her sojourn in the land she loved,
For English airs so variable proved,
And from another sunny clime there came
An urgent call, her interest to claim,
So, with high hopes, and noble work in view,
Once more she bade us all a long adieu.

Her promised letter came, and told of days
Doleful at first, for rough the vessel's ways,
Then pleasant sailing o'er the sunlit sea
Through lengthy days of calm monotony;
Told of the beauty of each tranquil night,
Lit by the silver moon's most glorious light;
Her fellow passengers of many a race
(What diverse traits were pictured in each face!),
The change of steamers, and the lovely isles
Passed as they steered the final southward miles;
Told of the welcome to her home to be,
The kind and hearty hospitality;
Barbados' wealth of tropic loveliness,
Too rare, too varied, fully to express;
The fierce heat, tempered by the ocean-breeze,
The rich luxuriance of plants and trees,
Flamboyant, frangipani, breadfruit, palm,
And fields of sugar-cane,—a novel farm;
The chalky roads, so dazzlingly white,
The gold and purple sunsets,—oh, so bright!
The Sabbath service, homelike and so dear,
And yet so strange to her did it appear,
The numerous darkies in their white attire,
The woolly heads of the black, white-robed choir.
And then she spoke of her enlarging thought,
With faith sublime, and deepening gladness fraught;
Love messages were sent, and a request
For frequent news of all that she loved best;
So well, so strong was she, so full of fun,
So much she longed to see her work begun,
So fair a future for her there seemed stored,
One lament only,—fever was abroad.

Soon came a letter in an unknown hand,—
Ada was prostrate in that distant land;—
Another quickly followed, and we read
The sad, sad words that told us she was dead.

Oh, the sad tears that rose to many an eye
That she so soon, so young, so lone, should die!
Die, amid strangers, and so far away!
To dire disease so speedily a prey!
Die, with her hopes, her aims all unfulfilled!
Oh, who for her would such a fate have willed?
Yet is the wide world girdled with the love
That was to her all other loves above,
And there in generous hearts it burned and glowed,
And for those five short weeks to her was showed.
So of friends' tender soothing lacked she nought,
One only care had she, one boon she sought,
Blessings on the two dearest she must leave,—
Yes, He would guard them who did thus bereave,—
So, with a Gloria she her Lord confessed,
And, safe in His kind arms, she sank to rest;
And truest comfort mingles with the pain
Of knowing we may ne'er meet here again.

Oh, when the trump of God shall wake His dead
That in His English acres make their bed,
The joyful call shall sound as loud and clear
In her far resting-place, and she shall hear.
And what shall be thereafter who can tell?
This only know we, and we know full well,
Her faith, her hope, her love were not in vain,
Death shall not hold her more, nor smite again;
She shall awake to such a glorious life
As ne'er is guessed at 'mid the earthly strife;
Orphaned no more, no longer desolate,
With perfect love, and perfect bliss elate,
Her Saviour she will welcome and adore,
Be with Him, and be like Him evermore.
And in the hope of that sure-promised day,
Remembering her, more fervently we pray
For that grand consummation—Come! Amen!
How glad the meetings and the greetings then!