“Gone Home” poetry by Sarah Ward Benedict, August 1872

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In Memory of Harley N. Leete (her brother), who died
in Verona Village, June 1872

Gone! gone! gone to his rest;
Home! home! home with the blest;

But oh, how we miss him! how sad is the day!
The husband, the father, by Death called away.
The neighbors will miss him–he’s been here since youth;
His motto in business has ever been “truth.”
They know he was good, was upright and just,
His word was a bond they ever could trust.
A bright link has fallen from our family band;
We cannot but weep,–grief-robed we stand.
Oh, hearts ! why this anguish? The loved one’s above,
Has met kindred spirits in the City of Love,
Has laid down life’s burden, and gone on before,
To await our arrival on that restful shore.
The dear one stepped through–the gates were ajar–
Among the celestials there’s another bright star.
Oh, we must look up! let our thoughts calmly rise
To that blissful abode where there’s no severed ties.
The way is not far–just above the blue dome;
We seem nearer Heaven since he has gone home.

Home! home! home with the just!
Gone! gone from the casket of dust!

We feel he’s gone home; our loss is his gain;
But still we are weeping, we cannot refrain,
For here our thoughts tary in the home grown so dear;
Our hears will keep crying, “I wish he was here.”
He made home so sunny, was loving and kind,
Sweet poetic beauties ever filling his mind,
The songs he has written a solace will bring.
They tell of salvation; of Christ as our King;
Even now I’m repeating his inspiring verse,
And the rhythms I feel while the songs I rehearse.
The words are so hopeful they bear me along
To that homewhere no sorrow will tincture my song.
He bade me write hopeful; how short is the time
Since he pointed to shadows I’d woven in rhyme;
He said, “bring more sunshine, to bright pages turn;”
He knew what was best, and his lesson I’ll learn.
He’s only gone home, there no shadows can come,
The kind, loving brother has only gone home.



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One comment on ““Gone Home” poetry by Sarah Ward Benedict, August 1872

  1. Dick Gove says:

    Looks like a lot of typing you need to do in order to input the poem for ease of reading. Good job, Mark!

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