There is but one stage more in life's long way,
O widowed women! Sadly upon your path
Hath evening, bringing change of scenes and friends,
Descended, since the morn of hope shone fair;
And lonely age is yours, whose tears have fallen
Upon a husband's grave, - with whom, long since,
Amid the quietude of village scenes,
We walked, and saw your little children grow
Like lovely plants beside you, or adorned
Your lowly garden-plot with summer flowers;
And heard the bells, upon the Sabbath morn,
Chime to the village church, when he you loved
Walked by your side to prayer. These images
Of days long passed, of love and village life,
You never can forget; and many a plant
Green growing at the windows of your home,
And one pale primrose, in small earthen vase,
And bird-cage in the sunshine at the door,
Remember you, though in a city pent,
Of morning walks along the village lane,
Of the lark singing through the vernal hail,
Of swallows skimming o'er the garden pond, -
Remember you of children and of friends
Parted, and pleasant summers gone! 'Tis meet
To nurse such recollections, not with pain,
But in submission to the will of Heaven;
Thankful that here, as the calm eve of life,
In pious privacy, steals on, one hearth
Of charity is yours; and cold must be
That heart, which, of the changes of the world
Unmindful, could receive you but as guests,[203]
Who had seen happier days!
Yet one stage more,
And your long rest will be with him you loved.
Oh! pray to God that each may rest in hope!