Many years ago my sister bought the entire contents of a beautiful and very old two-story colonial house. I guess the new owners of the house saw it as junk and simply wanted it gone…at a price. Well, my sister kept the antiques and most probably got her investment back. The rest of it she passed my way. You know what they say about one man’s junk. Well, in what she saw as junk I found a treasure. Tucked away in an old book was a yellowed piece of paper. It was neatly preserved yet still very hard to read. The lettering is so tiny I would guess it was written by a woman.
There is no title, no author’s name, no indication whatsoever as to who wrote it or when. But, after reading it I knew the why.
If anyone recognizes this poem or knows who the author might be I would love to know. It is hand-written in old cursive lettering and it is a treasure to me. After who knows how many years, I would like to publish these anonymous words for the author who put their heart and soul into writing and preserving them. I have not corrected or changed anything. This is just the way it was written.
Rest in peace…your heart has finally found a voice.
They have both passed away, bright beautiful ones,
Dear little idols of my hearts pure love!
Lie still trembling heart, why shouldst thou complain
Since they’re living free from all sorrow, trouble and pain
But still with what fervor I often have wished
I could press them once more to my poor aching breast,
To hear their sweet voices in innocent play;
But how vein are such wishes–they’ve both passed away.
How lonely, how cheerless, do all things appear
Mourning eyes rest on objects so painfully dear,
Then my heart asks in anguish, why did ye not stay
To light my dark path, but they’ve both passed away.
In moments of frenzy, I imagine I hear
Their light tread of footsteps, some message to bear
And I listen in fancy to what they might say
Then I weep tears of anguish, for they’ve both passed away.
They’ve both passed away, like bright summer morn
‘Aleft their dear parents in sadness to mourn
The strong tie of nerture O God thou hast given
May it fit us to live and prepare us for heaven.