no joy.

His little grave I cannot see,
Though weary months have sped
Since pitying lips bent over me,
And whispered, "He is dead!"--Alas
'Tis dreadful to be dead!

I do not mean for one like me,
--So weary, worn, and weak,--
Death's shadowy paleness seems to be
Even now, upon my cheek--his seal
On form, and brow and cheek.

But for a bright-winged bird like him,
To hush his joyous song,
And, prisoned in a coffin dim,
Join Death's pale, phantom throng--_My boy_
To join that grisly throng!

Oh, Mother, I can scarcely bear
To think of this to-day!
It was so exquisitely fair,
--That little form of clay--my heart
Still lingers by his clay.

And when for one loved far, far more,
Come thickly gathering tears;
My star of faith is clouded o'er,
I sink beneath my fears--sweet friend,
My heavy weight of fears.

Oh, should he not return to me,
Drear, drear must be life's night!
And, mother, I can almost see
Even now the gathering blight--my soul
Faints, stricken by the blight.

Oh, but to feel thy fond arms twine
Around me, once again!
It almost seems those lips of thine
Might kiss away the pain--might soothe
This dull, cold, heavy pain.

But, gentle Mother, through life's storms,
I may not lean on thee,
For helpless, cowering little forms
Cling trustingly to me--Poor babes!
To have no guide but me!

With weary foot, and broken wing,
With bleeding heart, and sore,
Thy Dove looks backward, sorrowing,
But seeks the ark no more--thy breast
Seeks never, never more.

Sweet Mother, for this wanderer pray,
That loftier faith be given;
Her broken reeds all swept away,
That she may lean on Heaven--her soul
Grow strong on Christ and Heaven.

All fearfully, all tearfully,
Alone and sorrowing.
My dim eye lifted to the sky,
Fast to the cross I cling--O Christ!
To thy dear cross I cling.

_Maulmain_, August 8th, 1850

From the sad voyage which drew forth this most touching poem Dr. Judson
never returned. He died on board the ship which was bearing him to more
healthful climes; and his body was committed to the ocean. One of the
most excellent of Mrs. Judson's productions is her account of the
closing scenes in her husband's li