Poems (Curwen)/The Countess of Lathom

by Annie Isabel Curwen

The Countess of Lathom.

O Death! before whose glance the mightiest fall,
Whose summons, soon or late, must come to all,
Whose voice is heard alike in cot and hall,
Hadst thou no gentler voice in which to call
This gracious lady o'er thy dread abyss?
Was there no other way less rough than this?
No time for farewell word or good-bye kiss?
Or was it sudden death and sudden bliss?

O Christ! whose teachings she did emulate,
Spending, and being spent, to ameliorate
The sordid lives of those of poor estate,
Surely Thou stood'st beside the "Silent Gate;"
And 'twas Thy voice that cheered her as she trod
That short dark path that led her home to God;
Thy arm that held her on that lonely road;
Thine hand that crowned her in the blest abode.

O Father! in this dark hour there may be
Some wounded soul misunderstanding Thee—
Questioning the wisdom of Thy stern decree;
Comfort such hearts, O Father, if there be,
And shew them 'twas in love that Thou didst spare
The anguish of the "parting hour" to her.
And so He called her from this world of care,
Straight through the sunshine here to glory There.