Mary Eliza Ireland
Mary Eliza Ireland Poems
Hard were her hands, and brown;
Coarsest of stuff her gown:
Sod hut her home.
Pale was her care-worn face,
...
Postman, good postman, halt I pray,
And leave a letter for me to-day;
If it's only a line from over the sea
To say that my Sandy remembers me.
...
She is lying in state, this fair June day,
While the bee from the rose its sweetness sips;
Her heart thrills not at the lark's clear lay,
...
gave her a rose, so sweet, so fair;
She picked it to pieces while standing there.
...
A bachelor gray, was Valentine Brown;
He lived in a mansion just out of the town,
A mansion spacious and grand;
...
We grow in grace if day by day
We keep in mind to watch and pray,
Thus walking in the Heavenward way.
...
The Best Poem Of Mary Eliza Ireland
The Missionary's Story
Hard were her hands, and brown;
Coarsest of stuff her gown:
Sod hut her home.
Pale was her care-worn face,
Beauty and youth and grace
Long since have flown.
Stern was her lot in life;
She was a drunkard's wife;
And forests drear
Shut not temptation out;
Strong drink was sold and bought;
Poor pioneer!
Slave he to demon rum;
Houses and lands all gone;
Want came by stealth.
Yet her scant fare she shared
With me, who worse have fared
In homes of wealth.
Stranger was I to her
Save as Christ's messenger;
And for His sake
She, all her little store
Wishing it were but more,-
Bade me to take.
Oh like the widow's mite,
Given for love of right,
May it be blest.
When her last hour has come,
May angels bear her home,
Ever to rest.
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4/18/2024 6:31:07 PM # 1.0.0.1119
