In Memoriam.

(A Tribute to Mrs. George A. Cox.)


    The Golden Rule - the blessed creed
    That shelters frail humanity,
    The tender thought for those in need,
    The charity of word and deed,
    Without which all is vanity -

    This, friend, you made your very own,
    And yours the satisfying part
    To pluck the rose of love full blown,
    To reap the gladness you had sown
    With open hand and kindly heart.

    Simplicity, the jewel rare,
    Whose gleam is ever true and warm -
    That thing of worth beyond compare
    Which none but truly great may wear -
    Adorned your life with power and charm.

    Yours the sincerity that grips
    Fast hold of natures strong and wise;
    It thrilled you to your finger-tips,
    It set its seal on brow and lips,
    And shone within your dark, true eyes.

    The throng knew not how rich the store
    Of sympathy and trust you had;
    Knew not you were, till life was o'er,
    God's almoner among His poor,
    God's comforter to sick and sad.

    Too soon you went - we miss the cheer,
    The kindliness vouchsafed to all;
    The world seems strangely lone and drear
    When one whom many hearts hold dear
    Fares heavenward ere the shadows fall.

    Too soon you went, and yet, maybe,
    Your work well done, your task complete,
    The soul of you turned longingly
    Toward gates of pearl and jasper sea
    And fields of Eden rarely sweet.

Jean Blewett

Jean Blewett was a Canadian author, journalist, and poet. Born in Scotia, Ontario, she became well-known for her poetry and was awarded the part of lyrical poet at the World’s Fair in Chicago, 1893. Her notable works were often published in literary magazines. Besides poetry, Blewett also wrote stories and worked as a journalist, gaining considerable respect in both fields. She passed away in Chatham, Ontario, in 1934. Her legacy remains a significant part of Canadian literary history.

Jean Blewett

When Trees Are Green.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

Sly Boy.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

The Secret.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

Woman.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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In Memoriam. - Mr. John A. Taintor,

Died at Hartford, on Saturday Evening, November 15th, 1862, aged 62 years.


A sense of loss is on us. One hath gone
    Whose all-pervading energy doth leave
A void and silence 'mid the haunts of men
    And desolation for the hearts that grieve
In his fair mansion, so bereft and lone,
Whence the inspiring smile, and cheering voice have flown.

Those too there are who eloquently speak
    Of his firm friendship, not without a tear,
Of its strong power to undergird the weak
    And hold the faltering feet in duty's sphere,
While in the cells of want, a broken trust
In bitterness laments, that he is of the dust.

In foreign climes, with patriotic eye
    He sought what might his Country's welfare aid,
And the rich flocks of Spain, at his behest

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mr. George Beach,

Died at Hartford, May 4th, 1860.


Aye, robe yourselves in black, light messengers
Whose letter'd faces to the people tell
The pulse and pressure of the passing hour.
'Tis fitting ye should sympathize with them,
And tint your tablets with a sable hue
Who bring them tidings of a loss so great.

What have they lost?
                    An upright man, who scorn'd
All subterfuge, who faithful to his trust
Guarded the interests they so highly prized,
With power and zeal unchang'd, from youth to age.

Yet there's a sadder sound of bursting tears
From woe-worn helpless ones, from widow'd forms
O'er whom he threw a shelter, for his name
Long mingled with their prayers, both night and morn.
The Missionary toward the setting sun
Will miss his l...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mrs. Harvey Seymour,

Died at Hartford, Sunday, May 5th, 1861.


She found a painless avenue to make
The great transition from a world of care
To one of rest.
                    It was the Sabbath day,
And beautiful with smile of vernal sun
And the up-springing fragrance from the earth,
With all that soothing quietude which links
The consecrated season unto Him
Who bade the creatures He had made, revere
And keep it holy.
                    From her fair abode,
Lovely with early flowers, she took her way
The second time, unto the House of God,
And side by side with her life's chosen friend
Walk'd cheerfully. Within those hallow'd courts,
Where holds the soul communion with its God,
She listening sate.
                    But then she lean'd her head
Upon h...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mrs. Joseph Morgan,

Died at Hartford, August, 1859.


I saw her overlaid with many flowers,
Such as the gorgeous summer drapes in snow,
Stainless and fragrant as her memory.

Blent with their perfume came the pictur'd thought
Of her calm presence,--of her firm resolve
To bear each duty onward to its end,--
And of her power to make a home so fair,
That those who shared its sanctities deplore
The pattern lost forever.

                    Many a friend,
And none who won that title laid it down,
Muse on the tablet that she left behind,
Muse,--and give thanks to God for what she was,
And what she is;--for every pain hath fled
That with a barb'd and subtle weapon stood
Between the pilgrim and the promised Land.
But the deep anguish of the filial tear
We s...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memorium - Lady Caroline Charteris

    The mountain-stream may humbly boast
    For her the loud waves call;
    The hamlet feeds the nation's host,
    The home-farm feeds the hall;

    And unto earth heaven's Lord doth lend
    The right, of high import,
    The gladsome privilege to send
    New courtiers to Love's court.

    Not strange to thee, O lady dear,
    Life in that palace fair,
    For thou while waiting with us here
    Didst just as they do there!

    Thy heart still open to receive,
    Open thy hand to give,
    God had thee graced with more than leave
    In heavenly state to live!

    And though thou art gone up so high
    Thou art not gone so far
    But that thy love to us comes nigh,
    As starlight from a star.

    And ...

George MacDonald

To Lillian Massey Treble

    A woman with a heart of gold
    I heard her called before I knew
    How noble was that heart and true,
    How full of tenderness untold.

    Her sympathies both broad and sure,
    Her one desire to do the right -
    Clear visioned from the inner light
    God gives to souls unworldly, pure.

    A heart of gold that loves and gives,
    God's almoner from day to day,
    Of her there is but this to say:
    The world is better that she lives.

Jean Blewett