Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, DE PROFUNDIS; DEDICATED TO MY DEAR FRIEND MARY STRUDWICK NICOLSON, by BELLE RICHARDSON HARRISON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

DE PROFUNDIS; DEDICATED TO MY DEAR FRIEND MARY STRUDWICK NICOLSON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The sunshine faded from the room
Last Line: To greet that resurrection morn!
Subject(s): Death - Children; Grief; Heaven; Mothers; Death - Babies; Sorrow; Sadness; Paradise


THE sunshine faded from the room,
Nor left a ray of hope or light;
And grewsome shadows entered in
As twilight deepened into night.
From out the solemn silence stole
In whispered words, "The child is dead!"
An awesome hush fell like a pall
On watchers gathered round the bed.

And art thou dead, my fairest one?
My heart can never call thee dead—
The little hands I hold in mine,
As thou art resting on thy bed,
Will clasp my face when morning light
Has wakened thee from thy sweet sleep;
Yet tears unbidden fill mine eyes,
And loving friends around me weep.

Beneath the sheet and snowy spread
Each night I fold thee from my sight;
On downy pillow couch thy head,
Thy form arrayed in robes of white.
I print a kiss upon thy brow,
And view, as now, thy sleeping face—
So innocent and free from guile,
So full of sweet, unconscious grace.

At early dawn the mock-bird's lay
Will break the stillness and gloom;
The sunlight of another day
Dispel the shadows from the room.
The singing of the joyous bird
Will rouse thee from untroubled sleep;
Yet tears unbidden fill mine eyes,
And loving friends around me weep.

I cannot call thee dead, my child,
Though icy cold thy little frame—
I plead with thee in accents wild
To speak again thy mother's name.
O Lord, thou know'st a mother's love!
Dear Lord, let this cup pass, I pray;
And when this weary night is o'er
My child awaken with the day

Gethsemane! Gethsemane!
That comes at last to each and all—
With sobbing cries and breaking heart
Within thy stony gates I fall.
I prostrate lie, and there behold
The drops of mortal agony
That from the brow of Jesus rolled
In garden of Gethsemane.

"Let this cup pass:" I hear the words
That broke upon the solemn night—
"Yet not my will, but thine be done."
And all his fears took instant flight.
And here a light breaks on my soul,
A light supernal and divine;
With trembling lips I breathe the words
"Thy will be done, O Lord, not mine."

I would not call thee back, my child,
My loss is thy eternal gain;
Secure from sin and sorrow's thrall,
And every doubt and fear and pain.
Be still, my heart, repine no more,
Let tears no longer dim mine eyes;
This pilgrimage will soon be o'er,
My child will live—beyond the skies.

We'll meet again in realms above,
This sleep of death will soon be o'er;
In Jesus' arms, where all is love,
Thou'lt wake upon a fairer shore.
Beyond the gloom and dreary night
For me a blessed day be born;
A thousand suns shall shed their light
To greet that resurrection morn!





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net