This poem captures the hope I hold of of seeing my own sister again through Jesus Christ. Going through cancer our journey together was all about hope, hope dashed, hope revived out of ashes, hope that continually survived against the odds. Even when the doctors came to tell us they could offer us no more hope, they could never take away the hope extended to us by Christ. Grief, I have learned, is also all about hope. I still hold on to hope as I wait for that heavenly reunion.
I see thee still :
Remembrance, faithful to her trust,
Calls thee in beauty from the dust;
Thou comest in the morning light,
Thou’rt with me through the gloomy night;
In dreams I meet thee as of old :
Then thy soft arms my neck enfold,
And thy sweet voice is in my ear :
In every scene to memory dear
I see thee still.
I see thee still,
In every hallowed token round ;
This little ring thy finger bound,
This lock of hair thy forehead shaded,
This silken chain by thee was braided;
These flowers, all withered now, like thee,
Sweet sister, thou didst cull for me ;
This book was thine, here didst thou read;
This picture, ah ! yes, here, indeed,
I see thee still,
I see thee still :
Here was thy summer noon’s retreat,
Here was thy favorite fireside seat;
This was thy chamber — here, each day,
I sat and watched thy sad decay ;
Here, on this bed. thou last didst lie,
Here, on this pillow, thou didst die :
Dark hour! once more its woes unfold;
As then I saw thee, pale and cold,
I see thee still.
I see thee still :
Thou art not in the grave confined —
Death cannot claim the immortal mind;
Let earth close o’er its sacred trust,
But goodness dies not in the dust ;
Thee, O ! my sister, ‘t is not thee
Beneath the coffin’s lid I see ;
Thou to a fairer land art gone ;
There, let me hope, my journey done,
To see thee still!
– Charles Sprague
