She stretched her hands, and took me to her breast. I kissed her, blessed her, spoke my last adieu, And yielded place to her whom God had given To be our child. After a long embrace. She whispered: "I am weary; let me sleep!" She passed to peaceful slumber like a child, The while attendant angels built the dream On which she rode to heaven. Not once again She spoke to mortal ears, but slept and smiled, And slept and smiled again, till daylight passed. The night came down; the long hours lapsed away; The city sounds grew fainter, till at last We sat alone with silence and with death. At the first blush of morning she looked up, And spoke, but not to us: "I'm coming now!" I sought the window, to relieve the pain Of long suppressed emotion. In the East, Tinged with the golden dawn, the morning star Was blazing in its glory, while beneath, The slender moon, at its last rising, hung, Paling and dying in the growing light, And passing with that leading up to heaven. My daughter stood beside her mother's bed, But I had better vision of the scene In the sweet symbol God had hung for me Upon the sky. Swiftly the dawn advanced, And higher rose, and still more faintly shone, The star-led moon. Then, as it faded out, Quenched by prevailing day, I heard one sigh A sigh so charged with pathos of deep joy, And peace ineffable, that memory Can never lose the sound; and all was past! The peaceful summer-day that rose upon This night of trial and this morn of grief, Rose not with calmer light than that which dawned Upon my spirit. Chastened, bowed, subdued, I kissed the rod that smote me, and exclaimed: "The Lord hath given; the Lord hath taken away And blessed be his name!" Rebellion slept. I grieved, and still I grieve; but with a heart At peace with God, and soft with sympathy Toward all my sorrowing, struggling, sinful race. My hope, that clung so fondly to the world And the rewards of time, an anchor sure Now grasps the Eternal Rock within the veil Of troubled waters. Storms may wrench and toss, And tides may swing me, in their ebb and flow, But I shall not be moved. Once more! once more I shall behold her face, and clasp her hand! Once more--forevermore! So here I give The gospel of her precious, Christian life. I owe it to herself, and to the world. Grateful for all her tender ministry In life and death, I bring these leaves, entwined With her own roses, dewy with my tears, And lay them as the tribute of my love Upon the grave that holds her sacred dust. END. End of Project Gutenberg's Kathrina--A Poem, by Josiah Gilbert Holland