Words: Isadore Gilbert, in The Signet Ring, by Joseph P. Webster (Chicago, Illinois: Lyon & Healy, 1868), page 122, alt.
If you have access to a photo of Gilbert or Howard (head-and-shoulders, at least 200x300 pixels), would you send us an e-mail?
What sound of lofty praise is this,
Suffusing all the air?
What agony, what untold bliss,
Are meeting, striving there?
Earth’s last great shadow—endless life
On one same threshold stand;
Immortal peace—earth’s darkest grief,
Both call from distant land.
God owns me, Mother! thus he spake,
What rest, what radiant joy!
Peace, stormy soul! For his dear sake,
Be still—God owns my boy.
A strange, cold shadow comes and goes
In those clear star-like eyes;
Life flickers now, it faintly glows,
A voice calls,
Lift up your heads, ye golden gates—
Once more that sound of joy!
God owns me, Mother: Jesus waits
To welcome home your boy.
Thy rest is glorious, brave child!
Thy triumph early won!
Thy soul’s young tempest soon was stilled;
Thou’rt waiting—we will come.