My Mothers Grave Poem by Alfred Gibbs Campbell

Beneath this mound her hallowed ashes lie;
In this dark grave her weary form reposes,
And all of her which death could cause to die,
In its embraces cold this tomb incloses.


Above her tomb I stand and, longing, cry -
Cry to her as in days of old, still longing
Amid the silence for some sweet reply
From her dear voice, while holy mem'ries thronging


Around my spirit, whisper prophecies
That I shall not for aye be disappointed;
By holy yearnings, longings such as these,
Shall my dull ears and tear-dimmed eyes, anointed,


Be well prepared to hear her angel voice,
To see her robed in beauty like the morning,
To walk with her the endless range of joys
Which ever on the earth-freed soul is dawning.


But Oh, my mother! I would hear thee now:
Speak to me now from out the heavens above me!
Speak as when round me thou thine arms didst throw,
And thy dear kisses fondly said, 'I love thee!'


Alas! thou answerest not! Silence profound
Engulfs me as I linger at the portal
Of this dark, narrow house, wherein lies bound
In death's cold chains, all that of thee was mortal.


Yet I shall meet thee, when no longer this
Dull earth shall keep my spirit in its prison;
Shall know the rapture of thy holy kiss
In climes to which thy happy soul has risen.


For thou 'lt await me, when its galling chain
My soul shall break through, and, Time's fetters scorning,
Rise to that land where neither grief nor pain
Shall cloud the sun of God's eternal Morning!