Sorrow, sadness — human lot,
Ever present, tho’ unsought;
Be thy burden in this hour
Not above our present power.
Sorrow were, when she was here,
Shared, and stayed the unbidden tear,
For her strength was always more
When our hearts a burden bore.
Stricken, gone. How can it be?
Veiled our eyes. We cannot see
Through the gloom of present sorrow
How, or whence a joy to borrow.
We will think of how she strove
For the proud, yet to improve
By the art of gifted grace
Every human form and face.
She, herself, few faults disclose
In form or feature, mind or pose;
Stately proud, yet meek she stood
In her unmatched womanhood.
Stooped she to the lowly part,
Deftly wrought the genius, Art,
Shaping into fold and shade
Plait and gore in beauty made.
And aroused in proud and great,
Homage, and that richer state
On the soul, possessed in beauties rare,
Self-contained, which none can share.
Such shall live who simply here
Strive in low and humble sphere,
If the talent held of earth
Multiplies in bounteous worth.
Bless us all in what she did,
Make us happy, and instead
Of sorrow, let the lamp whose rays
Guided her, make bright our ways.
This lovely eulogy was written by Maine poet J. H. Montgomery
in “The Spirit’s Work,” published 1914.