Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ADDRESS TO MRS. WM. ANDERSON, ON THE DEATH OF HER ONLY SON, by JANET HAMILTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ADDRESS TO MRS. WM. ANDERSON, ON THE DEATH OF HER ONLY SON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: We weep with those who weep:' I sympathize
Last Line: Shall blossom in the paradise of god.
Alternate Author Name(s): Hamilton, Janet Thompson
Subject(s): Death; Death - Children; God; Mothers; Mothers & Sons; Mourning; Sons; Dead, The; Death - Babies; Bereavement


"WE weep with those who weep:" I sympathize
With thee, O mother! with the mournful eyes
That speak, with sad, mute eloquence, a grief
That hath no tears—how oft the blest relief
Of woes less poignant. Ah! that grief of thine,
Craves for a higher sympathy than mine.
"Ask, and thou shalt receive; seek, thou shalt find"
Balm for thy wounded heart, peace for thy mind,
In Him, the Man of Sorrows, who hath borne
Our griefs and sorrows; comforts those who mourn.
HE giveth peace; His peace He giveth thee,
And though thy cherished plant, a fair young tree
Rich with the buds of promise, was laid low
Ere yet he blossomed in the sunny glow
Of life's bright summer, 'twas no cruel hand
That cut, with sudden stroke, that filial band,
Unloosed "the silver cord," and bore on high
Thy tender plant to gardens of the sky.
And thou, when laid aside this "mortal coil,"
Art, too, transplanted to celestial soil,
With the dear partner of thy heart and life,
Who shared thy sorrow, watched with thee the strife
Of sinking nature with her mortal foe,
Till she succumbed beneath thy deadly blow,
Relentless death! and with one long, low sigh,
The conflict ended.—Mother! thou wert nigh:
The silent anguish, deep, yet tearless woe
That pierced thy swelling heart, thy God did know,
When the bright angel, watching o'er thy boy,
Bore from the couch of death to realms of joy
The young immortal.—He, the loved, revered—
The father, too, was nigh; in faith prepared
His Isaac, child of promise, to resign,
Saying, "Thy will be done, O God, not mine!"
Blest parents, ye who bow beneath the rod,
Resign'd submissive to the will of God;
For yet a little while, and ye shall see
Beneath the shade of Life's immortal Tree,
The cherished plant ye reared on earth with care—
Rich in full-blossom'd glory, green and fair;
Then ye, blest trio, death's dark valley trod,
Shall blossom in the paradise of God.





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