HER hands held all earth’s rarest gifts ; the best
Is folded in the now eternal rest.
Her lips have pressed the chalice of all bliss ;
They smile forever, touched by death’s calm kiss.
To charm her ear the sweetest sounds life gave;
At last, the restful silence of the grave.
Upon her eyes dawned love’s fair, golden light;
Now falls the shadow of death’s long, still night.
She fathomed pain’s most sacred mysteries, —
Wan on her breast the flower of beauty lies !
Life, love, and motherhood. What more could be
But death ? Ah, God, I would that I were she !
Eliza Calvert Hall.