Brother, Rest.

IN MEMORY OF THE REV. J. E. V.


Rest, brother, rest! Thy eyes no more shall weep
    O'er unhealed anguish and unconquered sin;
Thy peaceful slumber, tranquilized and deep,
    Is marred no more by Earth's discordant din.
Calm are the skies above thy quiet bed,
    And calm is Earth in Summer-glories dressed,
And cool and sweet the fresh mould richly spread
    Above thy folded hands and peaceful breast.

Oh, could my voice thy placid slumber break,
    And win thee back to mortal scenes again, -
Bid thee, unblamed, thy heavenly paths forsake,
    Once more to walk with me 'mid care and pain,
I could not, dare not breathe the word, for thou
    Hast long enough toiled where the dark curse lies
On all Earth's fairest fruitage; - brother, now
    Thou seest the "goodly land" with unveiled eyes!

Oh no! I would not breathe that word, though life
    For me be sadder for the smile I miss;
For thou hast gained a home unreached by strife,
    Undimmed by tears - a home of changeless bliss!
There, in sweet fellowship with angels blessed,
    And all the crowned and glorified above,
In thy loved Saviour's longed-for presence rest,
    And bask forever in the light of LOVE!

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)

Somewhere

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

One By One

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

Love

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

Crossing The Red Sea

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

English

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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)

At Home

I thought it pleasant when a manly sire
Weary of foreign travel, at the door
Of his own cottage left his dusty staff,
And entering in, sat down with those he loved
Beside the hearth of home; - and pleasant, too,
When a fond mother, absent for a day,
At eve returning, from the sunset hill
That overlooked her cot, descried her boys
Flying with joyous feet along the path
To greet her coming; and, with clasping hands
Of baby welcome, lead her through the gate
Of her sweet home.

                                    Pleasant I deemed it, too,
When a young man, a wanderer for years
From those he loved, at length sat down again
With sire and mother in the twilight hour
At home; - and when a gentle daughter, long
From mother's kiss and father's blessing far,<...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Longings

Sleep, gentle, mysterious healer,
    Come down with thy balm-cup to me!
Come down, O thou mystic revealer
    Of glories the day may not see!
For dark is the cloud that is o'er me,
    And heavy the shadows that fall,
And lone is the pathway before me,
    And far-off the voice that doth call -
        Faintly, yet tenderly ever,
            From over the dark river, call.

Let me bask for an hour in the sun-ray
    That wraps him forever in light;
Awhile tread his flowery pathway
    Through bowers of unfailing delight; -
Again clasp the hands I lost sight of
    In the chill mist that hung o'er the tide,
What time, with the pale, silent boatman,
    I saw him away from me glide -
        Out into the fathomless myst'ry,
            All s...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Sabbath Memories.

I love thee, Sabbath morn! - I cannot say
    But 'tis because my father loved thee so, -
    Because my mother's care-worn face would grow
So sweetly placid in thy peaceful ray; -

It may be, that is part of what endears
    Thee, Sabbath, to my soul; for memory stirs
    Old buried thoughts of his voice and of hers -
Heard never more on Earth - till sudden tears

So sadly sweet well up, I bid them flow,
    They leave a Sabbath in the soul when past;
    As when the sky, by April clouds o'ercast,
Shows fairer in the sun's returning glow.

I see the grass-grown lane we trod of old,
    Dear father, sainted mother! while
    The Sabbath sun looked down with loving smile,
And touched the hills and streams with rippling gold.

I hear y...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Rest In Heaven

When tossed on time's tempestuous tide,
    By angry storms resistless driven,
One hope can bid our fears subside -
    It is the hope of rest in Heaven.

With trusting heart we lift our eyes
    Above the dark clouds, tempest-driven,
And view, beyond those troubled skies,
    The peaceful, stormless rest of Heaven.

No more to shed the exile's tears, -
    No more the heart by anguish riven, -
No longer bent 'neath toilful years, -
    How sweet will be the rest of Heaven

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Samuel, Aged Nine Years.

They have left you, little Henry, but they have not left you lonely -
    Brothers' hearts so knit together could not, might not separate dwell.
Fain to seek you in the mansions far away - One lingered only
    To bid those behind farewell!

Gentle Boy! - His childlike nature in most guileless form was moulded,
    And it may be that his spirit woke in glory unaware,
Since so calmly he resigned it, with his hands still meekly folded,
    Having said his evening prayer.

Or - if conscious of that summons - "Speak, O Lord, Thy servant heareth" -
    As one said, whose name they gave him, might his willing answer be,
"Here am I" - like him replying - "At Thy gates my soul appeareth,
    For behold Thou calledst me!"

A deep silence - utter silence, on his earthly home...

Jean Ingelow