Poems (Louisa Blake)/The Widow of Zareptha

THE WIDOW OF ZAREPTHA.

The morning sun shone brightly
O'er mount, and stream, and sea,
And on the ear came lightly
The grove's rich melody.

It seem'd a day of gladness,
As if the very earth
Had shaken off all sadness,
For joyousness and mirth;

A day to pour a healing
Upon the stricken breast,
In its calm joy revealing
A pledge of future rest.

But there was one lone dwelling,
One desolated spot,
From which low moans came telling,
That there the sun shone not.

One was within, whose sorrow
From that effulgent morn
No brilliant tint could borrow,
Her joy on earth was gone,

With grief too great for weeping,
She sat beside the bed,
Her lone watch silent keeping
Beside the lately dead.

Her heart in its deep sadness
Felt while she look'd on him,
All round might smile in gladness,
For her her light was dim.

The last bright spot was clouded
Left in her darken'd sky,
When death's sad shadows shrouded
The light of that young eye;

'Twas closed, yet life seemed clinging
Still to the lovely clay,
And o'er the sweet face flinging
The bright but parting ray.

Though death's stern fetters bound him
In stillness dark and deep,
So peaceful all around him
It seemed a breathing sleep.

Thou mother, sad reclining
Beside thine only son,
Submissively resigning
Thy last, thy lovely one—

Soon blissful and adoring
Thy wondering eyes shall see
The power of God restoring
The dead to life and thee.