Poem by Janet Hamilton

To William Logan

  On the Death of his aged Mother

Mourn not, my Christian friend:—thy late removed,
Thy sainted mother, cherished and beloved,
In Jesus fell asleep.—Oh sorrow not
As those who have no hope! Be ne'er forgot
The hand Divine, that to thy filial love
Consigned the sacred trust.—God will approve
The watchful care, the tender, pious zeal,
The ceaseless ministrations to her weal
With which thou sought'st her helpless age to guard,
And pour into thy bosom rich reward—
Yet oft thine eye will glance, thine ear will strain,
As if to see the form revered again;
As if once more the feeble voice to hear;
A mother's voice for ever true and dear.
The couch is empty, and the voice is gone;
Thou standest by her vacant chair alone:
Yet not alone, thy mother's God and thine
Sets in this cloud of tears the bow divine—
The rainbow of His promise, fair and free;
According to thy day thy strength shall be.
And she, the partner of thy life and heart,
She who in all thy sorrows bears a part—
And he, thy tender plant, thy duteous boy,
May both with thee through lengthened years enjoy
The tranquil bliss of calm domestic love,
And blest re-union in the home above!

1. A Lay of the Tambour Frame
2. A Phase of the War in America, 1864
3. Address to Garibaldi in His Retirement at Caprera, 1868
4. A Ballad of Memorie
5. Duleep Singh

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