The Spiritual Temple of God

The spirit, after leaving its earthly form, retains all its love for those it left on earth.

Anna Cora Wilson's (Birdie) poem—

MOTHER, dear mother! from the land of the blessed,

Where the earth-weary spirit finds comfort and rest,

I have come with my buds and blossoms so sweet,

And I lay them, as soul-gifts, at your tired feet.

Be joyous, dear mother, and banish the clouds,

And linger no longer 'mid cypress and shrouds;

But lift up your eyes to that fair land of rest,

Where Cora, your Birdie, has built your nest.

Birdie's last of earth—

HUSHED were the voices and muffled the tread

Of kind friends who lingered near Birdie's death-bed;

But they saw not the angels who entered unheard,

And dipped in heaven's chalice the wings of their bird.

And they whispered so soft that you heard not a sound—

Come, Birdie, your wings shall no longer be bound!

Then, quick as the eagle's eye drinks in the light,

Your Birdie was free from mortality's night.

And now from the heights of Eternity's plains,

From the land where Death comes not and Night never reigns,

Your Birdie returns, on swift pinions of love,

With fresh-gathered buds from her bright home above.

When the world in its coldness says, Birdie's dead,

O tell them, dear mother, I've only been led,

By the hands of the angels, away from the night,

Away from earth's darkness to heaven's clear light.

Birdie's nest—

IN the bowers of love supernal

There your Birdie's built her nest,

For the Father's hand eternal

Led her from the earth's unrest.

Hear you not my song of gladness,

Swelling o'er life's troubled sea?

Surely then it were but madness,

E'er to mourn my loss to thee.

I have gained a deathless morning—

All my mortal woes are o'er,

And the angels now are crowning

Me with gems from heaven's store.

Cease your mourning, dearest mother,

Let tears no more for Birdie fall;

God is love—there is no other

And His mercy's over all.

When the shades of Death are falling,

And your mortal day is o'er,

And you hear the angels calling

You from earth to our bright shore—

Then your Birdie's song of welcome

All your fears shall chase away,

And the bitter buds of morning

Blossom into endless day.

Birdie's vigil—

I AM here, dearest mother, though the summer has flown,

And the roses their beauty have shed;

For the world in its blindness determines alone,

That the soul in its freedom is dead!

I am here to watch over and keep you from harm,

To guide you from darkness to light;

I am here, and I shall wait until the morning bells chime,

Proclaiming the end of the night.

And then through the bright shining way of the stars,

Where the saints and the angels have trod,

I will lead you away from the earth and its cares,

To the spiritual temple of God.