A Memorial by Katherine Carey-Place

 

She lies in state, the one we love,

Arrayed like Queens of old.

The dear, familiar form of grace,

Lies draped in purple and old lace,

                And dim old gold.

 

The wary hands are idle now,

Their work of love is o’er,

The smile of cheer made heaven here,

                Is ours no more

 

The little Mother that we loved,

Her earthly race is run,

The deeds of love she lavished here,

The smile for all, the anxious tear,

                Are done.

 

But out beyond where she has gone,

No pain, no tears, are there,

With loved ones gone before, she waits,

Nor sighs to pass the pearly gates,

And we shall see her some dear day,

                More fair.

 

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

Copyright Roy Richard