Mrs. Anne Whitaker in Barbados.
ON wings of Angels borne unto her God,
This blessed Saint has gained the bright abode:
Serene thro’ life, on Heaven she fix’d her eye,
Calm was her soul, she look’d beyond the sky.
How oft, alas, has dark Affliction’s storm
Burst o’er her head, and shook her feeble form.
But her meek eye survey’d, with joy, above,
The bow of promise in a Saviour’s Love;
Serenely resting on her dearest Lord,
She sought instruction in his holy word;
Nor did she seek in vain; his kindly grace
Breath’d a calm sweetness o’er her pallid face;
From all her woes she rose superior still,
Smiled thro’ the storm, and own’d th’ Almighty’s will.
Sweet, dearest shade! who now, with heavenly lyre,
Sings Hallelujah’s with the blissful Choir,
Ordain’d thro’ life a thorny path to tread,
True to her God, an Angel’s life she led.
Mild Christianity adorn’d her mind,
Soft, gentle, humble, pious, and resign’d.
With what a treasure was her bosom stored,
By all admired , and by her friends adored.
But slow disease consum’d her wasting frame,
And fatal Death now urg’d his dreaded claim.
As the sweet flower, retir’d within the Vale,
Droops, fades, and dies before the blasting gale,
So the dear saint in meek submission bow’d,
A view of Heaven just brighten’d thro’ the cloud.
She saw her God, she saw th’ angelic train,
Welcome her spirit to th’ ethereal plain,
Heard the soft sounds of all their silver lyres,
And joyful flew to join th’ Immortal Choirs.
Her Soul his fled–but mournful memory still
Heaves the sad sigh, and feels the painful thrill.
Afflicted Anna’s agonizing breast
Is torn with cares, with filial grief opprest:
Such grief, Religion only can appease,
And give the drooping heart its wonted ease.
Methinks, by Fancy’s aid, I now perceive
Her shade, soft whisp’ring, “Anna, do not grieve.”
And, when the Sun, with mild and placid beam,
Gilds the tall Cocoas waving o’er the stream;
When purple Evening casts a dusky gloom,
And sheds mild radiance on her Parent’s Tomb,
Methinks, sweet Anna, bending o’er her grave,
Seems quite involv’d in sorrow’s whelming wave,
When these soft sounds reverberate on her ear,
Borne by mild Zephyrs thro’ the evening air,
‘While my lov’d Anna thus my loss deplores,
‘And inward grief discharges all its stores,
‘Thy tender Mother views thee from above,
‘Answers thy sighs, and sees thy filial love;
‘When every eye but thine is closed to sleep,
‘When in the silence of the night you weep,
‘Oh! then my Anna, from the realms of bliss,
‘On wings of winds I waft thee many a kiss;
‘But cease, my child, so deeply to deplore,
‘We soon shall meet to separate no more:
‘In these blest regions of eternal Peace
‘Thy cares shall finish, and thy sorrows cease,
‘Thro’ all thy woes, firm trusting in thy God,
‘He soon shall bring thee to this bright abode.”
(Mary Abel Clinckett)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, God Poems, Life Poems, Night Poems, Mind Poems, Sadness Poems, Soul Poems, Faces Poems, Joy & Excitement Poems, Heaven Poems, Flowers PoemsBased on Keywords: involv, deplores, christianity, barbados, discharges, cocoas