LVI.—EPITAPH ON A SOLITARY LIFE.
Rest, gentle traveller ! on life’s toilsome way,1
Pause here awhile, yet o’er this lifeless clay2
No weeping, but a joyful tribute pay.3
For this green nook, by sun and showers made warm,4
Gives welcome rest to an o’er wearied form,5
Whose mortal life knew many a wintry storm.6
Yet, ere the spirit gained a full release7
From earth, she had attained that land of peace,8
Where seldom clouds obscure, and tempests cease.9
No chosen spot of ground she called her own,10
She reaped no-harvest in her spring-time sown,11
Yet alway in her path some flowers were strown.12
No dear ones were her own peculiar care,13
So was her bounty free as Heaven’s air ;14
For every claim she had enough to spare.15
And loving more the heart to give than lend,16
Tho’ oft deceived in many a trusted friend,17
She hoped, believed, and trusted to the end.18
She had her joys,—’twas joy to live, to love,19
To labor in the world with God above,20
And tender hearts that ever near did move.21
She had her griefs,—but why recount them here ?22
The heart-sick loneness, the on-looking fear,23
The days of desolation dark and drear,—24
Since every agony left peace behind,25
And healing came on every stormy wind,26
And with pure brightness every cloud was lined,27
And every loss sublimed some low desire,28
And every sorrow helped her to aspire,29
Till waiting angels, bade her “ Go up higher !”30