by Mary Hannay Foott (1846-1918)
She heard the story of the end,
Each message, too, she heard;
And there was one for every friend;
For her alone — no word.
And shall she bear a heavier heart,
And deem his love was fled;
Because his soul from earth could part
Leaving her name unsaid?
No — No! — Though neither sign nor sound
A parting thought expressed —
Not heedless passed the Homeward-Bound
Of her he loved the best.
Of voyage-perils, bravely borne,
He would not tell the tale;
Of shattered planks and canvas torn,
And war with wind and gale.
He waited till the light-house star
Should rise against the sky;
And from the mainland, looming far,
The forest scents blow by.
He hoped to tell — assurance sweet! —
That pain and grief were o'er —
What blessings haste the soul to meet,
Ere yet within the door.
Then one farewell he thought to speak
When all the rest were past —
As in the parting-hour we seek
The dearest hand the last.
And while for this delaying but
To see Heaven's opening Gate —
Lo, it received him — and was shut —
Ere he could say "I wait."
About the Author
See our page on Mary Hannay Foott. Includes a linked list of all her writing available on our website.
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