Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A MITHER'S CRY (WRITTEN ON A SISTER'S GRAVE), by JOHN LAURENCE RENTOUL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A MITHER'S CRY (WRITTEN ON A SISTER'S GRAVE), by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: We played together, she and I
Last Line: And her two bairns upon her breast.
Alternate Author Name(s): Gage, Gervais
Subject(s): Death; Graves; Grief; Sisters; Women; Dead, The; Tombs; Tombstones; Sorrow; Sadness


WE played together, she and I,
Her brown hair blown athwart my face:
She wed: she died: I write her cry
Here in this silent place.

"Wee bairnie, strickit doon by death,
I canna' dry the rebel tear!
At night I listen for your breath,
Forgettin' you're nae longer here.

"I stretch my arm to fin' your face,
To feel you sleepin' soun' an' calm;
But cauld and empty's a' the place,
And nae wee forehead fills my palm.

"An' then I turn me to the wa',
Like that auld smitten Hebrew King,
An', wellin' frae my heart, there fa'
The salt, salt tears o' suffering.

"Ah, God! 'tis weary through the night,
Lone are my arms where late she lay;
In a' my heart there is nae light:
Thy face is dark. I canna' pray!

"Doon deep below the silent sod,
O bairn, thou goëst back to dust!
And so I gie thee up to God,
An' leave thee, sweet,—because I must.

"I canna' keep thee: God is strong.
Thy lips, O dead, I'll kiss nae mair!
Christ, Christ! it surely isna' wrong
To cry: Thou know'st my heart is sair!

"My earliest bairn God swept awa',
Scarce had it kenned the light o' morn;
And then the darkness covered a'
Until my second bairn was born.

"It, too, will wake nae mair frae sleep,
Let bright dawns rise or dark winds rave;
The twa wee coffins nestle deep—
Doon in the silence ca'd the grave.

"O, could but one wee face be there
Saved frae that cauld unanswering clay,
Or had God's gifties been less fair,
My heart had been less lone to-day!

"'The Lord kens best,' the preacher spoke,
Wi' ruddy face, voice large an' round:—
Not like that Voice wi' sobs that broke
When blood-sweat dript frae brow to ground:

"Not like that troubled Voice which groaned
Near His friend's grave at Bethany:
'Where have ye laid him?' And they moaned,
'Lo, how He loved him! ... Come and see!'

"Does God ken best? He smit wi' pain
The Son He lo'ed the best o' a';
But, mindin' that, there comes again
A glimmer on the darkened wa'.

"Maybe I lo'ed her—not too weel,
For, Lord, Thou kenn'st that canna' be—
But lo'ein' what my hands could feel
Maybe shut out the thought o' Thee!

"Break not my idol: let it sit
Where Thine ain face is plain to see;
Then, liftin' up my thought to it,
My thought can never err frae Thee!

"Maybe, aboon the clouds an' rain,
The lonesome nights an' dreary days,
My bairn, God earliest made His ain,
Teaches my later bairn His praise.

"Maybe she mak's its prattlin' tongue
Rin sweetly in the joyous psalm,
Where God's ain songs are endless sung,
And God's ain bairnies wave the palm.

"Maybe, they, sittin' side by side,
Feel heaven less lone because they're twa,
And wunner why we fret an' chide,
And why our hot tears drip an' fa'.

"O, wee bit bairn, on earth crushed doon,
Smit sair as wi' an angry rod,
To think thou'rt sittin' noo aboon
Crowned wi' that painless peace o' God!

"'Twere better for thee, bairn: the curse,
The death can fa' nae mair on thee!
But how for us it isna' worse
Is what thv mither fails to see.

"I Ken thou'rt safe; but, a' the while,
Life's path for us the lonelier lies:
Nae mair I'll see my shadow smile
Doon in the well-spring o' thine eyes!

"Nae mair thou'lt answer what I say
Wi' that unlettered speech o' thine:
Nae mair my arms by night or day
Shall clasp the bairnie that was mine!

"Nor once, where ither women meet,
Shall I lift high my head in glee
Wi' bright-faced damsels roun' my feet,
A pride for a' the warl' to see!

"Forbye, the silence an' the dark
Stretch in drear distance far between:
Faith shudders where nae milestones mark
A roadway through that dumb Unseen!

"O Christ, whose sobbings shook the shade
Of the lone garden and the hill,
No path but that Thy feet have made
Lies open unto sorrow still!

"Ay, bairn! His heart can shield thee best,
His voice be gentler for thine ear!
Lord, who hast gi'en my babe her rest,
Stop her lone mither's rebel tear.

"Maybe, by this twice-loaded loss,
Thy face, O Christ, I kindlier see,
And a' the meanin' o' that Cross
Thou barest in Thy woe for me.

"I ken Thy sorrow none can tell,
Thy face, like mine, was wet wi' tears,
Thou, too, wast lonely, Thou Thysel'
Pray'd'st as if God had closed His ears—

"Till, through the dumbness and affright
Of the sealed grave and sky forlorn,
Broke the strange radiance of the light
On Woman's doom, that Easter morn.

"O, gie me strength frae them to part,
An' yield them up, great Christ, to Thee:
Lord, let them sleep upon Thy heart,
Far safer than they slept wi' me!"

And a year sped: in that same grave
I saw three coffins lie at rest:
Beneath, that Mother wondrous-brave,
And her two bairns upon her breast.





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