Women of the Early Harlem Renaissance: African American Women Writers 1900-1922

To My Dead Brother

How silently the years have sped away,
Drifting me off from childhood's sunny time,
Since angels bore thy pure white soul away,
On swift bright wings, to realms of fairer day,
And purer clime.

And still my heart, dear brother, yearns for thee,
When friends seem cold, and life and earth so drear,
Thou wert my hero, ever true to me;
Though other brothers loved I tenderly,
Thou wert most clear.

Ofttimes when death seems cold and grim to me,
I cling to earth, with all its wasting care,
I think: That Messenger once came to thee;
And then I dare to brave eternity,
For thou art there.

And when, at last, the toil of life all o'er,
I stand by Jordan's surging, swelling, tide,
Methinks our Lord will send thee to the shore,
To guide thy falt' ring, timid, sister o'er,
To heaven's side.

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