Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of

mine, In the early, early morning the summer sun 'ill shine, Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world

is still.


When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the

waning light You 'll never see me more in the long gray fields at

night; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow

cool On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in

the pool.


And you

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


'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



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

now; You 'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and

brow; Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another


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

place; Though you 'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon

your face;

Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you

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



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


She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.


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


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

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


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



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 release; 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




He showed me all the mercy, for he taught 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

desire is but to pass to Him that died for me.


For my


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