After writing the previous post pertaining to the death of my great great grandfather Loren Webb, I recalled that his daughter, Mabelle Lorena Webb Hester also had written a poem reflecting on his death . I think we found this poem in the collection of family artifacts held by my mother's cousin, David Hester.
Lines on the death of L. Webb
1st
When thou art quietly sleeping
Thy last long sleep, near thy children’s home;
Tho’ you often spake of yourself as an exile,
Compelled from friends and kindred to roam.
2nd
You thought your grave would be far from home,
Too far for your loved ones ever to see;
That no kindred’s hand would plant roses there,
Or shed thereon a tear for thee.
3rd
But I said, the wild flowers of that sunny clime
On the lovely spot would fade and bloom;
And the pure dew-drops and the beautiful rain
Would be the tears to bathe the tomb.
4th
And those sweet singing birds you loved so well.
Their carols will weave, when ought else is nigh;
And the Angels, you know, will remember the spot;
Tho it never be seen by mortal eye.
5th
Then thy answer was like the trusting – self
Yes, why should care where the body be
My spirit will be in the realm of rest,
And that will friends and home for me.
6th
And as I read of those strangers kind
Of the friends thy Savior had raised up for you
I knew he had made all the rough places smooth;
That his hand had led thee all the way through.
7th
Yes, thou hast found thy long sought rest,
Where sorrow and sighing sank to sleep
Where the weary and weepers come
And they never again shall toil and weep,
8th
We are coming to greet thee when our work is done
Our appointed time with patience we wait
A band of brothers, of sisters we come
Wait for us brother, at the Golden Gate.
-Belle Webb
