Father and Mother

Our Father and Mother are no more,
their bodies are in their graves.
They have passed to that Great Beyond,
their souls with Him who calms the waves.

Home in Heaven ~ rich in mercy,
angels led them all the way.
Now in the Saviour's tenderest care;
Jesus called them ~ they went His way.

We did not know the sorrow to be left alone,
until God sent a messenger to visit our home.
It is sad when He calls for one or the other,
but O! how sad ~ He called father and Mother.

In all this world in haunts most rare,
not one to be found like Mother.
With outstretched arms and loving care,
clinging to us as never another.

A soul so noble, humble and kind,
most affectionate that one could find ~
Her devotion, so loyal and true,
watching over us her whole life through.

On the banks of the ocean's briny deep,
near Cape Hatteras she is fast asleep.
Far away where the flowers gently wave,
left alone in a silent grave.

The midnight stars and noon-day sun,
gleam upon her, one by one.
Thinking of Mother and home in the past,
it was only a while and could not last.

How can we help but grieve for her,
when her voice we do not hear.
For no words were ever sweeter,
than Mother's words that were so dear.

Where the rolling waves wash the shore,
near the beacon of the mighty deep,
There we put her many years ago,
where she rests since going to sleep.

In Felton's Chapel, Father made
his confession, sincere and young was he;
Baptized in the river nearby,
at the old cedar tree.

St. John's, Holly Spring, Mars Hill;
churches where he worshipped with joy,
Brantley's Grove and Bethlehem,
he attended when a boy.

"There is a Fountain Filled with Blood,'
it was his favorite hymn.
He loved that sacred song,
that he learned and sang in Bethlehem.

With his efforts all his life,
toiling with ease or with strife,
He provided a home, full of energy with
a Father's heart, doing his duty ~ his full part.

In his younger boyhood day,
with his mates he would often play,
But now he sleeps beneath the sod,
in the soil on which he trod.

A reliable, steadfast guidepost ~
eighty years it stood, pointing out the way ~
At last has been removed.
Now in yonder field, mould'ring in the clay.

The hands that toiled for us are folded,
the dear warm hearts are stilled.
We have lost the most precious ones,
whose places cannot be filled.

How we long for those dear ones,
who left a wound that will not heal.
Their loving care and smiles are gone;
such a loss we ever shall feel.

O! The last pressure of the dear hands,
the look in their faces as we stood by
Yielded what our hearts must understand:
the long and last "goodbye."

Now the heavenly winds blow softly,
and quietly whisper, "Too late."
God took them home with the angels.
He saw their suffering was too great.

Home is sad! O! how dreary!
Lonesome in every spot.
Listening for their voices 'til weary,
but we hear them not.

Thank God. It is not death but life,
for Jesus stopped and said:
"I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life."
Yet many think they are dead.

On that bright and glorious morning,
He will whisper from above,
"Arise, dear ones, let Me dress thee,
in spotless robes of white and love."

In that heavenly home
of fadeless beauty,
each will be a shining star,
Dwelling in that Holy City,
with the Golden Gates ajar.

Now we leave them in the care of Him,
Who cares for us and Who cares for them.
So sweetly slumbering at rest.

Beautiful and kind was each other, and
Humble hearts remember ~ Father and Mother.

~~~

The above poem was written in 1925 by Jesse Pearce, son of Isaac and Maria Salter Pearce.

Isaac and Maria had eight children: C.W. (the first, died in childhood), Walter John, J. Jesse, J. Frederick, Isaac T., Rosa H., Arthur D., and Ernest M.)