A frail little lady lay dying alone. She wished that her Lord would just take her on home? She'd lived a full life—since nineteen-o-four. She didn't belong in this world anymore. Her memory was gone, or so people said. But she could remember the life she had led.She'd struggled through nursing, ‘though never with joy. She'd married a farmer. They'd buried their boy. She envisioned the dust storms, the blizzards, the drought. In her mind she was watching their crops dying out. She'd held her wee babies so close to her heart. They moved to the city, a new life to start.
As she lay there now thinking, tears streamed down her face . The memory of those years she could not erase. A shiver passed over her, making her cold. Oh, when could she leave this body, so old?
Each day was so dreary. Each night was so long. Soon sleep overcame her; to her mind came a song: “The Lord is my Shepherd; no want shall I know. He leads by still waters, where green grasses grow . . . . And when I should come to the Valley of Death, My Lord will stay with me to my last fading breath." She smiled at the thought of this hymn from her past. Her weary eyes closed: she was at peace at last.
She'll long be remembered, this lady so dear. Although she's now gone, she'll always seem near. She taught in her church, held clubs in her home. She visited invalids and old folk, alone. Whenever a neighbor was in need of some care, to be sure, that kind lady would always be there.
And now she's in heaven with friends and with kin. God sent down an angel to usher her in.
© Helen Dowd.