In Memoriam. - Mr. David F. Robinson,

A poem by Lydia Howard Sigourney

Died at Hartford, January 26th, 1862, aged 61.


We did not think it would be so;--
We kept
The hope-lamp trimm'd and burning. Day by day
There came reports to cheer us;--and we thought
God in his goodness would not take away
So soon, another of that wasting band
Of worthies, whose example in our midst,
Precious and prized, we knew not how to spare.
These were our thoughts and prayers;--
But He who reigns
Above the clouds had different purposes.

* * * * *

On the low pillow where so late he mourn'd
His gifted first-born, in the prime of days,
Circled by all that makes life beautiful
And full of joy, his honored head is laid,--
The Sire and Son,--ne'er to be sunder'd more.
Yet his unblemish'd memory still survives,
And walks among us;--the upright intent,--
Firmness that conquer'd obstacles,--the zeal
For public good,--the warmth of charity,
And piety, that gave unwithering root
To every virtue.
Of the pleasant home
Where his most fond affections shed their balm
And found response,--now in its deep eclipse
And desolate, it is not ours to speak;
Nor by a powerless sympathy invade
The sacredness of grief.
'Twere fitter far
For faith to contemplate that glorious Home
Which knows no change, and lose itself in praise
Of Him, who to His faithful followers gives
Such blessed passport o'er the flood of Death,
That "where He is, there shall His servant be."

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