OH, sister, darling, though I smile, the
tears are in my heart,
And I will strive to keep them there,
or hide them if they start;
I know you’ve seen our mother’s
glance ofttimes so full of woe,
The grief-sob rises to the lips that bid
her first-born go.
It is not that she doubts his love to
whom thou’st given thine,—
The fear that he may coldly look upon
his clasping vine;
But, oh, she feels however loved and cherished
as his wife,
Though calm her lily may float down upon
the stream of life;
Yet, by her own glad married years, she
knows that clouds will stray,
And tears will sometimes fill thy cup,
though kissed by love away;
And she will not be near her flower to
lay it on her breast—
’Tis thus—’tis
thus the young birds fly, and leave the lonely nest!
Oh, sister, darling, I shall miss thy
footfall on the stair,
Beside my own, when good-words have followed
good-night prayer;
And miss thee from our pleasant room,
and miss thee when I sleep,
And feel no more thy twining arms and
soft breath on my cheek.
And I shall gaze with tearful eyes upon
thy vacant chair—
Sweet sister, wherefore, wherefore go,
’tis more than I can bear!
Forgive me, Lizzie, do not weep—I’m
strong again, and calm,
“Our Father” for my aching
heart will send a spirit-balm.
Now let me bind this snowy veil amid thy
silken hair,
The white moss-rose and orange buds upon
thy bosom fair;
How beautiful you are to-night! Does
love such charms impart?
An angel’s wing methinks has stirred
the waters of your heart;
So holy seem its outlets blue where sparkle
yet the tears,
Like stars that tremble in the sky when
not a cloud appears.
Art ready now? The evening wanes;
the guests will soon be here,
And the glad bridegroom waits his own.
God bless thee, sister dear!
