At My Wife's Grave Side Poem by John Critchley Prince

Six years have passed, my loved lost wife,
Since thou wast taken from my breast,
And cradled in thy final rest,
Leaving me lone with grief and strife.

And now I stand upon the sward
That vails thy simple burial-place;
And with a pale and drooping face,
Survey it with a sad regard.

And as I gaze sweep through my brain
Things of the past on wings of gloom,
So that the mosses on thy tomb
Are watered by my tears of pain.

I see thee in the strength of youth,
With beauty in thy face and form,
With all thy feelings pure and warm,
Thy language sweet with artless truth.

Again I see thee sorely tried
Beneath an overwhelming cloud—
Thy freshness gone, thy spirit bowed
By poverty's dark ills allied.

I see thee in that troublous hour
When death smote down our darling child,
Made thee disconsolate and wild,
And me o'erawed by his dread power.

'Mid all I found thee wholly true
Unto thy offspring and to me.
May God, who set thy spirit free,
Console and strengthen me anew.