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Title: Rest
Author: Eugenia Dunlap Potts [
More Titles by Potts]
For so He giveth His beloved sleep.
IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER
A soul is gather'd home;
At morn, at eve, on mission kind intent,
Her footsteps evermore were wont to roam,
Till years their ceaseless labor spent.
Each day its olive leaf of grace brought in--
garner'd leaf from charity's broad field;
Each day's good deeds redeem'd a life from sin,
And gray'd anew her shield.
The lowly suppliant bless'd,
When to the hovel came her welcome smile;
The cold, the hungry, friendless and distress'd,
With gen'rous aid she cheer'd the while;
And not alone the desolate and poor
Sought counsel of her wisdom and her love;
The high-born and the cultured cross'd her door
To share her treasure-trove.
A nature great and high,
No puny thought could dwell within her breast;
How sad to see her worth untimely die!
Yet who may wail the needful rest?
Her willing hand, her tireless step, her active brain,
Rear'd lofty landmarks on the busy way;
The haunts that knew her long'd with yearning vain,
The reaper's scythe to stay.
The strife at last is o'er;
The strife that all great souls must needs endure;
And anchor'd fast on Eden's peaceful shore,
Her roving bark is strong and sure.
The world is full of workers for the right;
"They also serve who only stand and wait."
No waiting servant she; with armor bright
She pass'd the pearly gate.
[The end]
Eugenia Dunlap Potts's poem: Rest
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