Poems (Odom)/In Memory

IN MEMORY Of my Husband, David M'Caleb, who died Sept. 29, 1882.

My trembling fingers nerveless fall,
My broken harp in silence lies;
In vain I sweep its severed strings,
No thrilling notes of music rise.
A chill has fallen on my soul
That freezes all my heart and brain;
My inspiration all has flown,
I can not wake to song again.

Yet I would send my spirit forth
In wailing music as I write,
To tremble on the grave that holds
My bleeding, broken heart to-night.
But I, to sing his praise, must lift
My music to higher, purer spheres;
The voiceless sorrow in my breast
Is crushed and crystallized in tears.

My boyish sweetheart, brave and true;
The hero of my earliest song,
The idol of my maiden dreams,
My soldier-lover, grand and strong;
The keeper of my woman's heart,
Holding it dearer than his life;
The one who crowned me with his love,
And blessed me with the name of wife.

From childhood to his manhood's prime
My image in his bosom slept;
The strings of his impassioned soul
No hand but mine has ever swept.
No other woman from his eyes
The tender glance of love has known;
The close heart-pressure of his hand
Was mine, and always mine alone.

The love of all the world beside,
Scarce missing it, I could have spared,
But from my childhood to this hour
His heart I never could have shared—
Not even with our little ones,
Who climbed and clung upon his breast;
He loved them fondly, but I knew
He alway loved their mother best.

And all my being sprang to meet
The warmth his spirit gave to mine,
My soul in gladness pouring out
For him its richest, rarest wine.
And now I sit alone, and weep
In silence; bitter, blinding tears
Are falling, as I gaze upon
The weary waste of coming years,—

The days when I shall never hear
His step upon my chamber floor;
The twilights when my listening heart
Shall wait his coming never more.
I stretch my arms in vain, and know
His vanished form I can not reach;
And feel the silence, cold and dark,
Unbroken by his loving speech.

I look upon our oldest son,
Striving to take his father's place;
And trace that father's image on
Our baby's fair, unconscious face.
Dear little boy! he can not know
The tender care his life has lost;
The portal of a father's heart
His tiny feet had scarcely crossed.

Sometimes when tears are dropping fast
Upon my folded, listless hands,
And bitter anguish rends my heart,
A childish form beside me stands.
My little De, with trembling lips,
And curling lashes wet with tears,
Speaks words of comfort to my soul,
In wisdom far beyond his years.

Of all the three, I think for him
My heart sends up its brightest flame;
Perhaps it is because he wears
His dear, dead father's honored name.
I give my boy a love so deep
It trembles down almost to pain;
In him I fancy I can see
My own lost childhood rise again.

And though beneath the cruel cross
My heart in anguish seems to break,
I know I must take up my life
And live it for his children's sake.
If I should faint and falter when
My burden heavy on me lies,
I feel his soul will stoop to mine
And bring me courage from the skies.

God blessed and God bereft my life,
He gave, and then He took away;
But I will trust Him with a trust
That knows no falter nor decay.
The love that blossomed sweetly here
Has burst into immortal bloom,
And I shall find it once again
Beyond the darkness of the tomb.