I am a widow'd thing, now thou art gone! <br />Now thou art gone, my own familiar friend, <br />Companion, sister, help-mate, counsellor! <br />Alas! that honour'd mind, whose sweet reproof <br />And meekest wisdom in times past have smooth'd <br />The unfilial harshness of my foolish speech, <br />And made me loving to my parents old, <br />(Why is this so, ah God! why is this so?) <br />That honour'd mind become a fearful blank, <br />Her senses lock'd up, and herself kept out <br />From human sight or converse, while so many <br />Of the foolish sort are left to roam at large, <br />Doing all acts of folly, and sin, and shame? <br />Thy paths are mystery! <br /> <br /> <br />Yet I will not think, <br />Sweet friend, but we shall one day meet, and live <br />In quietness, and die so, fearing God. <br />Or if not, and these false suggestions be <br />A fit of the weak nature, loth to part <br />With what it lov'd so long, and held so dear; <br />If thou art to be taken, and I left <br />(More sinning, yet unpunish'd, save in thee), <br />It is the will of God, and we are clay <br />In the potter's hands; and, at the worst, are made <br />From absolute nothing, vessels of disgrace, <br />Till, his most righteous purpose wrought in us, <br />Our purified spirits find their perfect rest.<br /><br />Charles Lamb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/written-christmas-day-1797/
