Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BURIAL OF TWO YOUNG SISTERS; ONLY CHILDREN OF THEIR PARENTS, by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BURIAL OF TWO YOUNG SISTERS; ONLY CHILDREN OF THEIR PARENTS, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: They're here, in this turf-bed - those tender forms
Last Line: Blend in a full eternity of bliss.
Subject(s): Childlessness; Death - Children; Death - Babies


THEY'RE here, in this turf-bed -- those tender forms,
So kindly cherish'd, and so fondly loved,
They're here.
Sweet sisters! pleasant in their lives
And not in death divided. Sure 'tis meet
That blooming ones should linger here and learn
How quick the transit to the silent tomb.
I do remember them, their pleasant brows
So mark'd with pure affections, and the glance
Of their mild eyes, when, in the house of God,
They gathered up the manna, that distill'd,
Like dew, around.
The eldest, parted first,
And it was touching even to tears, to see
The perfect meekness of that child-like soul,
Turning 'mid sorrow's chastening to its God,
And loosening every link of earthly hope,
To gird an angel's glorious garments on.
The younger lingered yet a little while,
Drooping and beautiful. Strongly the nerve
Of that lone spirit clasped its parent-prop:
Yet still in timid tenderness embraced
The Rock of Ages -- while the Saviour's voice
Confirmed its trust: "Suffer the little ones
To come to me."
And then her sister's couch
Undrew its narrow covering -- and those forms,
Which side by side, on the same cradle-bed,
So oft had shared the sleep of infancy,
Were laid on that clay pillow, cheek to cheek
And hand to hand, until that morning break,
Which hath no night.
And ye are left alone,
Who nurtured those fair buds, and often said
Unto each other, in the hour of care,
"These same shall comfort us for all our toil."
Yes, ye are left alone. It is not ours
To heal such wound. Man hath too weak a hand,
All he can give, is tears.
But he who took
Your treasures to his keeping: He hath power
To bear you onward to that better land,
Where none are written childless, and torn hearts
Blend in a full eternity of bliss.





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