Later, in the gloom Of coming night, I entered that dim room, And sat down by her. Vivian held her hand:
And on the pillow at her side there smiled The beauteous count'nance of a sleeping child.
"Maurine," spoke Helen, "for three blissful years, My heart has dwelt in an enchanted land; And I have drank the sweetened cup of joy, Without one drop of anguish or alloy.
And so, ere Pain embitters it with gall, Or sad-eyed Sorrow fills it full of tears, And bids me quaff, which is the Fate of all Who linger long upon this troubled way, God takes me to the realm of Endless Day, To mingle with His angels, who alone Can understand such bliss as I have known.
I do not murmur. God has heaped my measure, In three short years, full to the brim with pleasure; And, from the fulness of an earthly love, I pass to th' Immortal Arms above, Before I even brush the skirts of Woe.
"I leave my aged parents here below, With none to comfort them. Maurine, sweet friend!
Be kind to them, and love them to the end, Which may not be far distant.
And I leave A soul immortal in your charge, Maurine.
From this most holy, sad and sacred eve, Till God shall claim her, she is yours to keep, To love and shelter, to protect and guide."
She touched the slumb'ring cherub at her side, And Vivian gently bore her, still asleep, And laid the precious burden on my breast.
A solemn silence fell upon the scene.
And when the sleeping infant smiled, and pressed My yielding bosom with her waxen cheek, I felt it would be sacrilege to speak, Such wordless joy possessed me.
Oh! at last This infant, who, in that tear-blotted past, Had caused my soul such travail, was my own:
Through all the lonely coming years to be Mine own to cherish--wholly mine alone.
And what I mourned so hopelessly as lost Was now restored, and given back to me.
The dying voice continued:
"In this child You yet have me, whose mortal life she cost.
But all that was most pure and undefiled, And good within me, lives in her again.
Maurine, my husband loves me; yet I know, Moving about the wide world, to and fro, And through, and in the busy haunts of men, Not always will his heart be dumb with woe, But sometime waken to a later love.
Nay, Vivian, hush! my soul has passed above All selfish feelings! I would have it so.
While I am with the angels, blest and glad, I would not have you sorrowing and sad, In loneliness go mourning to the end.
But, love! I could not trust to any other The sacred office of a foster-mother To this sweet cherub, save my own heart-friend.
"Teach her to love her father's name, Maurine, Where'er he wanders. Keep my memory green In her young heart, and lead her in her youth, To drink from th' eternal fount of Truth; Vex her not with sectarian discourse, Nor strive to teach her piety by force; Ply not her mind with harsh and narrow creeds, Nor frighten her with an avenging God, Who rules His subjects with a burning rod; But teach her that each mortal simply needs To grow in hate of hate and love of love, To gain a kingdom in the courts above.
"Let her be free and natural as the flowers, That smile and nod throughout the summer hours.
Let her rejoice in all the joys of youth, But first impress upon her mind this truth:
No lasting happiness is e'er attained Save when the heart some OTHER seeks to please.
The cup of selfish pleasures soon is drained, And full of gall and bitterness the lees.
Next to her God, teach her to love her land; In her young bosom light the patriot's flame Until the heart within her shall expand With love and fervour at her country's name.
"No coward-mother bears a valiant son.
And this, my last wish, is an earnest one.
"Maurine, my o'er-taxed strength is waning; you Have heard my wishes, and you will be true In death as you have been in life, my own!
Now leave me for a little while alone With him--my husband. Dear love! I shall rest So sweetly with no care upon my breast.
Good-night, Maurine, come to me in the morning."
But lo! the Bridegroom with no further warning Came for her at the dawning of the day.
She heard His voice, and smiled, and passed away Without a struggle.
Leaning o'er her bed To give her greeting, I found but her clay, And Vivian bowed beside it.
And I said, "Dear friend! my soul shall treasure thy request, And when the night of fever and unrest Melts in the morning of Eternity, Like a freed bird, then I will come to thee.
"I will come to thee in the morning, sweet!
I have been true; and soul with soul shall meet Before God's throne, and shall not be afraid.
Thou gav'st me trust, and it was not betrayed.
"I will come to thee in the morning, dear!
The night is dark. I do not know how near The morn may be of that Eternal Day;
I can but keep my faithful watch and pray.
"I will come to thee in the morning, love!
Wait for me on the Eternal Heights above.
The way is troubled where my feet must climb, Ere I shall tread the mountain-top sublime.
"I will come in the morning, O mine own; But for a time must grope my way alone, Through tears and sorrow, till the Day shall dawn, And I shall hear the summons, and pass on.
"I will come in the morning. Rest secure!
My hope is certain and my faith is sure.
After the gloom and darkness of the night I will come to thee with the morning light."
Three peaceful years slipped silently away.
We dwelt together in my childhood's home, Aunt Ruth and I, and sunny-hearted May.
She was a fair and most exquisite child; Her pensive face was delicate and mild Like her dead mother's; but through her dear eyes Her father smiled upon me, day by day.
Afar in foreign countries did he roam, Now resting under Italy's blue skies, And now with Roy in Scotland.
And he sent Brief, friendly letters, telling where he went And what he saw, addressed to May or me.
And I would write and tell him how she grew - And how she talked about him o'er the sea In her sweet baby fashion; how she knew His picture in the album; how each day She knelt and prayed the blessed Lord would bring Her own papa back to his little May.
It was a warm bright morning in the Spring.
