Clara McNaughton Poem # 3: Waiting At The Portals

Clara's only daughter Eva was only 11 years old when she died in June of 1884. The housekeeper was cleaning, and picked up an old musket that had not been used in many years. Unknowing the weapon was loaded, she pointed it at Eva joking that she was going to shoot her, and pulled the trigger.  Eva died instantly in front of the whole family. I cannot even imagine the horror the family must have felt at that moment. I have used the word 'tragic' in past posts, but that does not even begin to describe it. 

Waiting At The Portals 

Here at the portals now I stand and wait

The welcome call that bade me come to thee.

Then hasten Lord, fling wide that solemn gate

And set my fainting, struggling spirit free.

For closed and firm those lofty portals stand

Solid and grim, held by an unseen hand.

My feet are weary, Lord, the road was steep

And stumbling oft my cross I weakly bore.

I fain would rest me at my Savior's feet

In that blest land where sorrow is no more.

But closed and firm those lofty portals stand

Solid and grim, held by an unseen hand.

I long to quit this sordid, mortal frame

And from all earthly cares and griefs be free.

Thy great and gracious promises to claim

For one who comes with contrite heart to thee.

But closed and firm those lofty portals stand.

Solid and grim, held by an unseen hand.

I long to see a ray of Heavenly light

I long to hear a burst of Heavenly song

I long to see the forms who walk in white

My love and lost among the happy throng.

But closed and firm those lofty portals stand.

Solid and grim, held my an unseen hand.

~by Clara McNaughton

This final poem is so much grimmer than the previous poems: It is missing the glimpse of the happy memories, as well as the hope. Surrounded by so many deaths, she must have wondered how much more a person could take. Maybe her grandchildren born around this time brought her some peace. 

The next set of blogs will focus on her granddaughter Harriet Viola McNaughton, my Nanny.