Heritage of Hope
Where has our grandmother gone?
She rests, so calm and still.
I thank her for my faith’s first blush.
I know I always will.
Where gone those eyes of crystal,
So quick to smile or sing?
O’er-shadowed only lately-
Now closed to everything?
Where gone that voice of comfort,
Heard softly ‘neath life’s roar?
Last lilting sick-bed psalms of hope,
Now hushed for evermore?
How marvelous was her resolve
In spite of body pain.
How strange her benediction:
“Grieve not. To die is gain.”
How can I bear the sad loss of
That life, that voice, those eyes?
But for the Saviour’s promise:
“Today in Paradise.”
As I gaze long at her dear face
Before the eulogy,
I know by Spirit’s urging, yet
Again her face I’ll see.
Gram often praised a pleasant land,
Aglow with God’s own love;
Astir with tasks for joyful saints,
Her rich reward above.
As Jesus broke the bonds of death,
She trusted for the same,
And now, I’m sure he honours her
For holding to his name.
The casket, shut, abruptly.
No tearful face, I must
Do honour to that precious shell,
Returning now to dust?
Right now I know her spirit flies
On brilliant wings of praise,
Which lift her laughingly aloft,
To see her Saviour’s face.
But to the churchyard sod we go,
And to the berth serene,
Wherein to lay her fragile form;
Will it no more be seen?
Fresh comfort comes from scripture now
With words which she oft’ said:
Some golden day as prophesied,
The graves shall yield their dead!
To meet the calling Jesus, whole;
Renewed in body form.
Transfigured with the living saints,
On that great Rapture morn’.
And so the faith sustains me,
For things yet to be seen.
As I await the joy of First