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You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawe

thorn shade, And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am

lowly laid. I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you

when you pass, With your feet above my head in the long and

pleasant grass.


I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive

me now; You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere

I go:

Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be

wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have

another child.


If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting

place; Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon Though I cannot speak a word, I shall harken what

you say, And be often, often with you when you think I'm

your face;

far away.


Good-night, good-night, when I have said good-night

forevermore, And you see me carried out from the threshold of

the door; Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be

growing green: She'll be a better child to you than ever I have



She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor : Let her take 'em : they are hers: I shall never

garden more: But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush

that I set About the parlor-window and the box of migno.



Good-night, sweet mother: call me before the day

is born. All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn; But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New

year, So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother




I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive I

am ; And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of

the lamb. How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the

year! To die before the snowdrop came, and now the

violet's here.


O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the

skies, And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that

cannot rise,

And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers

that blow, And sweeter far is death than life to me that long

to go


It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the

blessed sun,

And now it seems as hard to stay; and yet, His will

be done! But still I think it can't be long before I find re


And that good man, the clergyman, has told me

words of peace.


O blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver

hair! And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet

me there! O blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver

head! A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my



He taught me all the mercy, for he showed me all

the sin. Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there's One

will let me in: Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that

could be, For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for



I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death

watch beat, There came a sweeter token when the night and

morning meet:

But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand

in mine, And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign.


All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels

call; It was when the moon was setting, and the dark

was over all; The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to

roll, And in the wild March-morning I heard them call

my soul.


For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie

dear; I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer

here; With all my strength I prayed for both, and so I

felt resigned, And up the valley came a swell of music on the



I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my

bed, And then did something speak to me-I know not

what was said ; For great delight and shuddering took hold of all

my mind,

And up the valley came again the music on the



But you were sleeping; and I said, “It's not for

them; it's mine. And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for

a sigp.

And once again it came, and close beside th

window-bars, Then seemed to go right up to heaven and die

among the stars.


So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I

know The blessed music went that way my soul will have

to go.

And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day, But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am past



And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to

fret; There's many worthier than I would make him

happy yet. If I had lived—I cannot tell—I might have been

his wife; But all these things have ceased to be, with my

desire of life.


O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in

a glow; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I

know And there I move no longer now, and there his

light may shineWild flowers in the valley for other hands than



O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this

day is done The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the


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