He Hath Done All Things Well.

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO A DEAR FRIEND ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED FATHER.


The dawn-light wakes, and brightens to the day,
    And the slow sun climbs the far eastern skies,
Then, down the western slopes pursues his way,
    Till shadows deepen and the twilight dies; -
And still I muse, and wait, and list in vain
    For feet that never, never will return, -
For loving words I may not hear again,
    Howe'er with ear attent I wait and yearn.

O love that never wavered, never changed!
    How shall I miss thee as the years go by?
O tenderest heart that could be estranged! -
    O fount that age and suffring could not dry! -
O guiding hand to earliest thought endeared -
    O hand that after clung so long to me! -
O patient Father, honored, loved, revered!
    How shall I hear life's burden wanting thee?

Be still, fond heart! - another Father, thine -
    Both his and thine - still on thee bends His eye;
Thou canst not walk alone, for Love Divine,
    Unseen, yet near, each starting tear will dry.
Lean on the strong, true breast, of Love more deep,
    More constant far than earthly love may be,
Who gently soothed his pain, and gave him sleep,
    And shall enfold, uplift, and comfort thee!

So lay thy burden in His hands, and rest!
    Thy Lord hath fathomed every earthly woe;
With patient feet Earth's thorniest pathway pressed,
    And left the tomb with Heaven's light aglow; -
For, what them seest not now, some other day,
    In lands unreached by sorrow's dreary knell,
Thou in His light shalt read, and meekly say,
    "E'en so, dear Lord, Thou hast done all things well."

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)

To A Motherless Babe.

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

Come Home

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

Song - Oh, take me where the wild flowers bloom!

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

Heart-Pictures

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

English

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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
   ...

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)

For My Friend Mrs. R.

When writing to you, friend, a subject I'd find
In which there's both pleasure and profit combined,
And though what I've chosen may pain in review,
Yet still there's strange mingling of pleasure there too.
Then let us go back many years that are past,
And glance at those days much too happy to last.
I have seen thee, my friend, when around thy bright hearth
Not a seat was found vacant, but gladness and mirth
Kept high holiday there, and many a time
Were mingled in pastime my children with thine.
I've looked in again, the destroyer had come,
And changed the whole aspect of that happy home.
He entered that dwelling, and rudely he tore
From the arms of his mother, her most cherished flower.
Thy heart seemed then broken, oh! how couldst thou bear
To live in this...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

A Parting Hymn.

Father in Heaven, to thee,
    Guardian and friend,
Lowly the suppliant knee
    Here would we bend! -
Blessing thee ere we part,
Each with a grateful heart,
    For all thy love doth send -
Plenteous and free!

Thanks for thy hand outspread
    Ever in power
O'er each defenceless head
    In danger's hour!
Thanks for the light arid love,
From thy full fount above -
    A rich and constant shower,
O'er us still shed!

Go thou with us, we pray,
    Whom duties call
To our high tasks away,
    Each one, and all, -
Go, with thy Spirit's might,
Go, with thy Gospel's light
    - Whatever may befall -
With us alway

Now let thy blessing rest
    On us anew -
Brother, and friend, and guest,
    Tri...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Lines In Memory Of The Late Ven. Archdeacon Elwood, A.M.

When men of gentle lives depart,
They leave behind no brilliant story
Of fam'd exploits, to make men start
In wonder at their dazzling glory.

The scholar's light, religion's beams,
Tho' fill'd with great, commanding pow'r,
In modest greatness throw their gleams,
In quiet rays, from hour to hour.

The greatest battles oft are fought,
Unseen by any earthly eye;
The victors all alone have wrought,
And, unapplauded, live or die.

'Twas thus with thee, thou rev'rend man;
In peaceful, holy work thy life
Was spent, until th' allotted span
Was cut by Time's relentless knife.

Far from the keen and heartless train,
Who daily feel Ambition's sting,
Thy life, remov'd, felt not the pain,
Which goads each one beneath her wing.

Thomas Frederick Young

Address To The Scholars Of The Village School

I come, ye little noisy Crew,
Not long your pastime to prevent;
I heard the blessing which to you
Our common Friend and Father sent.
I kissed his cheek before he died;
And when his breath was fled,
I raised, while kneeling by his side,
His hand:, it dropped like lead.
Your hands, dear Little-ones, do all
That can be done, will never fall
Like his till they are dead.
By night or day blow foul or fair,
Ne'er will the best of all your train
Play with the locks of his white hair,
Or stand between his knees again.
Here did he sit confined for hours;
But he could see the woods and plains,
Could hear the wind and mark the showers
Come streaming down the streaming panes.
Now stretched beneath his grass-green mound
He rests a prisoner of the ground....

William Wordsworth