The Mother's Dream

For the Gazette.

At Midnight hour I saw a form descending,
In silvery garments, from the stars above,
Till o’er her little grave in beauty bending,
She called me to her with a voice of love.

Mother, she said, you think that I am lying
In the cold earth beneath this little mound,
And when the wintry winds o’er earth are sighing,
You think I feel the cold and hear their moaning sound;

You think the cold, damp grave is dark and dreary,
And I’m alone within that silent bed,
And as, you think, you heart grows sad and weary,
With frightful visions of your sleeping dead.

Oh, mother, why such gloomy thoughts of sadness?
That dismal coffin holds no spirit there,
I live in Heaven, where all is joy and gladness,
‘Twas but the casket that you buried here.

Come closer now and see and feel me, mother,
I am thy child that lay upon thy breast,
Believe that I’m the same and not another,
Though I have left thee for my heavenly rest.

I clasped the angel form with trembling pleasure –
So true and life-like did the vision seem –
Close to my heart I pressed my darling treasure,
When I awoke – and all was but a dream.

H. B. J.

– Published in The Davenport Daily Gazette, Davenport, Iowa, Wednesday Morning, February 12, 1862, p. 2