If you've been reading my blogs over the past year or so, perhaps you've noticed my my love for the poetry of Oliver Wendell Holmes.

To the modern ear his style is archaic, sing-song-y, too much the product of the late 19th century. There are often referents unknown to us, public figures of the day who have faded from popular memory, significant events which have settled to the bottom of historical record.

But there are some of his poems which I find quite transcendent, striking a chord despite no knowledge of the particular events or persons mentioned. Such is the case with the opus below.

Who was Martha? From the few lines of this dedication we surmise that she was a laundress serving the Holmes household and that she was advanced in years. We also know from the subtitle that she died January 7, 1861.

The other details of her life are a mystery, yet they are not pertinent for either the purpose or the impact of these short verses.

What is, perhaps, more in evidence here is the faith of the poet.

From the outset he calls upon the servant of the church to ring the funeral bell, calling the faithful Christians of the town to join in the confession of what he so boldly proclaims at the end: Martha will rise at the resurrection of all flesh to wear Christ's white robe of righteousness.

My interpretation, I suppose, but gathered from reading much of Holmes work, in which it is possible to find many such references to the Christian Faith. These works have given me such joy, and I pray the ones I share here are a blessing to you as well.

MARTHA

DIED JANUARY 7, 1861

SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Her weary hands their labor cease;
Good night, poor Martha,--sleep in peace!
Toll the bell!

Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
For many a year has Martha said,
"I'm old and poor,--would I were dead!"
Toll the bell!

Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
She'll bring no more, by day or night,
Her basket full of linen white.
Toll the bell!

Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
'T is fitting she should lie below
A pure white sheet of drifted snow.
Toll the bell!

Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light,
Where all the robes are stainless white.
Toll the bell!