I love the wild wind’s moan;

My child, I would be here alone.

Yet not alone, another son

Is with me all the while.

Though frail in health, he cares for me,

And greets me with a smile;

He does my lonely hours beguile.

Another too, though far away,

Away now at the West—

With three kind sons to care for me,

Most signally I’m blest;

Be Heaven our place of final rest.

The husband and the daughter sleep;

Thus friends are parted here,

But they in joy will live again,

When Jesus shall appear,

To dry each Christian mourner’s tear.

February, 1865.

Lines

Written on the death of Annie R. Smith.

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