Spiritist Review - Journal of Psychological Studies - 1867

Spiritist Poetry

Memory

Parisian Society of Spiritist Studies, July 20^th, 1866 – medium Mr. Vavasseur



Two children, brother and sister,

Went back to the cottage together

One summer evening. It was night already,

With slow steps, walked noiselessly,

Behind them, white and vaporous

Like a shadow, mysterious.

The bird slept in the depths of the groves,

And the breeze slipped without a voice;

Everything dreamed in a sweet mystery.

The sister whispered to her brother:

Brother, I'm afraid; don't you hear

A bell crying over there?

It's the sad knell of the dead,

The brother said, do not shiver,

It's a soul, sister,

That flees earth, claiming

A prayer, to pay for

Its place in the eternal dwelling.

Come on, sister, pray in the church,

On the powdery gray slab

Where we are seen, on a day of mourning,

Both behind a long coffin

Where our poor mother rest.

Let's go pray for the dead, sister;

It will bring us good luck.

Calm down! - And sister and brother,

Under the eyelid, a tear,

Holding hands, one another,

Took the narrow and green path

That led to the old church.

A second time the wind

Brought them the sad sendoff,

Of the deceased, seeking their God,

And the bell ceased its complaint;

And mute and trembling afraid,

Our two children, shy,

Walked, looking at the skies.

By the door of the church, arriving,

They saw a woman sitting

In the shadow of the sad post

Holding the large holy water font.

Bare feet, face veiled,

Pale, mad and disheveled.

She cried out: O my God!

O you everywhere adored,

Anytime, anywhere on earth

As in heaven, a poor mother,

Trembling, at the feet of your altars,

Before your eternal designs,

Hardly dare, in your presence,

Complain and tell her anguish.

Lord! I only had one child,

Only one; he was pink and white

Like a white ray painting

Dawn, in a cool morning.

The mirror of his big blue eyes

Reflected the azure of your skies,

And on his mouth, a sweet smile

Seemed to sprout and tell:

Cry no more at your home;

God has just sent me.

See, the storm is gone, mother;

The sky is cloudless, hope!

And I was hoping. But, poor child,

You were wrong by cheating on me.

When the wind blows on the beach

It destroys everything in its path,

Leaving only a few reeds

Crying on the shores of their waters.

And when death knocks on the door

Of a home, she comes in and takes all!

Everything! ... at its threshold, leaving

Only a black sheet to hide the mourning.

I knew, however, that a beautiful dream,

If it starts in the morning, it stops

One evening here below; that night,

Jealous of the shining sun,

Making its sad shadow pale,

Soon spreading a dark veil

Obscuring its thousand lights,

And hiding it from all sights.

Yes, I knew it, but the mother ignores

It all; and when she hopes,

The poor mother believes in everything;

For a son, especially for happiness.

I spent the whole life suffering,

Couldn't I, without disarray

Hope for a happy day?

It was otherwise! Lord.

May your will be done!

In this humble retreat, alone,

Where I saw my husband die,

Where, pale and trembling, on my knees,

I received the farewell of a father,

Where you take away from the mother

Her last hope, her child.

Before his triumphant slayer,

Death, that contemplates its prey

With a smile of joy,

Lord! I ask the hand

That hits my loved ones, tomorrow

Not to spare the mother,

Asking her son to the land.

The bell, one last time rang,

At these words, her voice heard.

The soul of the child on earth

Came back to console the mother,

Saying: I am in heavens!

Anxious sister and brother, when

They came out of the church, dated,

The woman was still seated.

Jean