Poems (Helen Jenkins)/Our Loved Ones
OUR LOVED ONES.
Waking at midnight from unquiet sleep,
I hear a storm in wrathful fury sweep
Around our door. The wild winds shriek
And moan. Strange voices speak,
In muttering tones, of cold and want and pain;
Then scream and laugh, or shout aloud again,
Like demons holding carnival to scare
Poor homeless, friendless creatures to despair,—
Clutching at them with icy fingers fierce,
Whose touch, like cruel darts, their bodies pierce.
O that some power might bless each hapless wight
With food and raiment, warmth and cheery light!
Pity, O God, the suffering poor to-night!
I hear a storm in wrathful fury sweep
Around our door. The wild winds shriek
And moan. Strange voices speak,
In muttering tones, of cold and want and pain;
Then scream and laugh, or shout aloud again,
Like demons holding carnival to scare
Poor homeless, friendless creatures to despair,—
Clutching at them with icy fingers fierce,
Whose touch, like cruel darts, their bodies pierce.
O that some power might bless each hapless wight
With food and raiment, warmth and cheery light!
Pity, O God, the suffering poor to-night!
The dear ones with us now are safe, I know;
Yet noiselessly about their rooms I go,
Placing my hand upon each tender cheek,
Kissing their warm lips lightly, lest I break
The secret spell which now so closely holds
Each joyous spirit in its slumb'rous folds.
Yet noiselessly about their rooms I go,
Placing my hand upon each tender cheek,
Kissing their warm lips lightly, lest I break
The secret spell which now so closely holds
Each joyous spirit in its slumb'rous folds.
Sleep on, to-night, thank God, secure from harm,
Heedless alike of cold and wind and storm!
Yet here and there a vacant room I mind;
No faces on the pillows can I find;
Quickly I pass my hand each one across,
Feeling a painful sense of want and loss.
The pearly snowflakes whirl and drift around
One little grave, one silent, shadowy mound.
Why do I shudder at this chilling thought?
I know, dear Willie, it can harm thee not.
Safer than all the rest from pain and sin,
No ill can come to thee, Christ's fold within.
One, drawn by mystic bands of faith and love,
Went out from us, life's hopes and joys to prove,
With him who gently holds her girlish hand,
Journeying through life's sunny summerland.
Heedless alike of cold and wind and storm!
Yet here and there a vacant room I mind;
No faces on the pillows can I find;
Quickly I pass my hand each one across,
Feeling a painful sense of want and loss.
The pearly snowflakes whirl and drift around
One little grave, one silent, shadowy mound.
Why do I shudder at this chilling thought?
I know, dear Willie, it can harm thee not.
Safer than all the rest from pain and sin,
No ill can come to thee, Christ's fold within.
One, drawn by mystic bands of faith and love,
Went out from us, life's hopes and joys to prove,
With him who gently holds her girlish hand,
Journeying through life's sunny summerland.
I grieve to see my boys and girls grow tall,
Lest we, too soon, shall lose the nestlings all.
If they, at last, must drift away from me,
Launching their boats upon life's untried sea,
Then I can only wait and hope and pray
That God will be their pilot all the way.
When tempest-tossed, on rock and reef adrift,
Almighty Father. only Thou canst lift
The storm-cloud, calm the troubled deep!
Thou only canst our treasures safely keep!
Lest we, too soon, shall lose the nestlings all.
If they, at last, must drift away from me,
Launching their boats upon life's untried sea,
Then I can only wait and hope and pray
That God will be their pilot all the way.
When tempest-tossed, on rock and reef adrift,
Almighty Father. only Thou canst lift
The storm-cloud, calm the troubled deep!
Thou only canst our treasures safely keep!