At The Grave Of A Young Mother

        A transient day,
        A troubled night,
        The swift decay,
        The certain blight,
And death and dust; -

        And are these all? -
        Nay: those are past;
        And she who sleeps
        Shall wake at last
Among the just!

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Pamela S. Vining, also known by her pseudonym J. C. Yule, was an English poet whose work was recognized in the 19th century. Despite her significant contribution to English poetry, detailed information about her life, including her birth and death dates, remains elusive. She remains a noteworthy figure in the canon of English literature for her emotive and thought-provoking poetry.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

He Hath Done All Things Well.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

The Drunkard's Child

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

No Other Name

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

I Laid Me Down And Slept

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

English

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Drowned

[Footnote: In the Grand River, at Brantford, July 30th, 1875, Miss Jessie Hamilton, adopted daughter of C.H. Waterous, Esq., Brantford, aged 14 years and 3 months, and Miss Ella E. Murton, only daughter of John W. Murton, Esq., Hamilton, aged 14 years.]


    The morning dawned without a cloud,
But evening came with pall and shroud, -
With muffled step, and bated breath,
And mournful whisperings of - death!

            *            *            *

    Young lips, that in the morning sung
The summer's opening flowers among,
Were hushed and cold; - young, laughing eyes,
That met the dawn with sweet surprise,
Were darkly sealed; - young feet, that pressed
The dewy turf with glad unrest,
Were cold and stirless, never more
To tread the paths they trod ...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Lines On The Death Of A Young Mother

    A voice missed by the dear home-hearth -
A voice of music and gentle mirth -
A voice whose lingering sweetness long
Will float through many a Sabbath song,
And many a hallowed, evening hymn,
Tenderly breathed in the twilight dim!
- But that missing voice, with a richer tone,
Is heard in the anthems before the throne;
And another voice and another lyre,
Are added now to the angel-choir!

    There's a missing face when the board is spread -
There's a vacant seat at the table's head, -
A watchful eye and a helpful hand
That will come no more to that broken band.
- But she sits to-day at the board above,
In the tender light of a holier love;
And the kindling eye and the beaming face
At the feast on high hold a nobler place!

    A form is ...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Gone Before

(IN MEMORY OF A PUPIL)


            Thou art but gone before -
            Gone to that unknown shore
Toward which my feet are journeying swiftly on
            Thou hast but laid thy head
            First with the dreamless dead,
I, too, shall come, and share thy rest anon.

            Methinks 'twas sweet to die,
            Ere childhood's purity
Had been polluted by sin's withering breath;
            Ere Care's pale, haggard mien
            Thy laughing eye had seen,
Or thou hadst wept beside the bed of death!

            We weep - yet thou art blest!
            We mourn - but thou'rt at rest!
Well may we weep, yet, lost one, not for thee!
            Not that thy race is run,
            Thy brief life-journey...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Death

'Tis but to fold the arms in peace,
    To close the tear-dimmed, aching eye,
From sin and suffering to cease,
    And wake to sinless life on high.

'Tis but to leave the dusty way
    Our pilgrim feet so long have pressed,
And passon angel-wings away,
    Forever with the Lord to rest.

'Tis but with noiseless step to glide
    Behind the curtain's mystic screen
That from our mortal gaze doth hide
    The glories of the world unseen.

Tis but to sleep a passing hour,
    Serene as cradled infants sleep;
Then wake in glory and in power,
    An endless Sabbath day to keep.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

A Mother's Grave.

I.

The years have passed in ceaseless round
    Since first they laid her here to rest
In dreamless sleep beneath the silent mound,
    With folded hands upon her gentle breast.


II.

The ivy twines about the crumbling stone,
    And Springtime's scented blossoms fling
Their incense o'er the peaceful home
    That knows no more of suffering.


III.

Full many a Summer's sun has shed
    Its brightest smile upon the hallowed spot,
And sobered Autumn and wild Winter spread
    Their garments here--she heeds them not!


IV.

The feathered wildlings of the wood and field
    Their untaught melody around it make,
But she who sleeps with eyes so softly sealed
    Their gladsome songs can never more a...

George W. Doneghy

Mary

            Thus early with the dead -
    Thou of the young, fair brow, the laughing eye,
            The light and joyous tread, -
Mary, we little thought thou would'st be first to die!

            A little while ago
    We saw thee first in girlhood's early bloom;
            Now thou art lying low,
Thy pale hands crossed in slumber, silent in the tomb!

            Ah me! 'tis hard to speak
    Of thee as of the dead - the pale, still dead! -
            'Tis hard to think the b'eak,
Stern blast of winter sweeps above thy low, cold bed!

            *            *            *            *            *

            Thus early with thy God!
    'Twas a rich boon He sent whose loving voice
            Called thee to His abode,
'Mid the s...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)