... Harry A. Shepherd, thinking back on the death of his mother, who died when he was six (1890). He himself died before I was born, in 1963.
When I think of home and mother,
And the time she passed away,
Both recall a recollection
Of the sadness of that day
When we stood around the coffin
With our eyes bedimmed with tears,
Thinking that was gone forever
Consolations of future years.
Yet we mourned our loss, in sorrow.
Meekly submitting to will divine,
Thinking that upon the morrow
We'd prepare for the judgement time
When with her we'd be reunited,
And our sorrow would be o'er
Then our souls would be delighted
And our loss we'd mourn no more.
Years have passed and memories have flown,
But to our vow we've been untrue,
And some sorrows we have known,
And the past we sincerely rue,
But if our lives we'd have consecrated
To a tho't so truely sublime,
Over sorrows we'd have been elated,
And found reward in a heavenly clime.