Janet Hamilton Poems

Spirit Divine! Eternal! Holy Dove!
These sacred fruits are thine,-peace, joy, and love,
Even peace with heaven, and peace on earth; a joy
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Farewell, old year, 'the bourne' is near,
'Whence traveller ne'er returneth'-
Passing away from time for aye,
Thy life-light faintly burneth.
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Blest Sabbath bells! blest Sabbath bells!
My heart with solemn rapture swells;
I come! I come! how blessed there,
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Dear child! a faithful mother's love
For thee will toil, and watch, and pray;
An angel hovering still above
Thy couch by night, thy steps by day.
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My Mother! O my Mother! when thy spirit heavenward fled,
And thy aged form, in death's embrace, lay on thy lonely bed;
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An eager, youthful voice I hear
Asking for bread a father dear;
For he had strayed into the wild,
And wandered far, the thoughtless child,
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Sweet minstrel! from thy hermit's cell
Rich strains of sacred truth are flowing,
The haughty sceptic's pride to quell;
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My Mother! O my Mother! when thy spirit heavenward fled,
And thy aged form, in death's embrace, lay on thy lonely bed;
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Thou frigid tyrant, dark and stern November!
We shrink before thee, and shall long remember
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'Words of Comfort,' they are come,
Rich in many a tender token,
Weeping love and mothers' woe,
Deeply felt and fitly spoken.
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