Is falling, soon to fade; when I am dead
Think this, my child, of me:
I never said — I never could have said —
Ungentle words to thee.
I treated you as I would treat a flower,
I watched you with such care;
And from my lips God heard in many an hour
Your name in many a prayer.
I watched the flower's growth; so fair it grew,
On not a leaf a stain;
Your soul to purest thoughts so sweetly true;
I did not watch in vain.
I guide you still — in my steps you tread still;
Towards God these ways are set;
'Twill soon be over: child! when I am dead
I'll watch and guide you yet.
'Tis better far that I should go before,
And you awhile should stay;
But I will wait upon the golden shore
To meet my child some day.
When I am dead; in some lone after time,
If crosses come to thee,
You'll think — remembering this simple rhyme —
"He holds a crown for me."
I guide you here — I go before you there;
But here or there — I know —
Whether the roses, or the thorny crown you wear
I'll watch where'er you go,
And wait until you come; when I am dead
Think, sometimes, child, of this:
You must not weep — follow where I led,
I wait for you in bliss.
God in the Night
Deep in the dark I hear the feet of God:
He walks the world; He puts His holy hand
On every sleeper — only puts His hand —
Within it benedictions for each one —
Then passes on; but ah! whene'er He meets
A watcher waiting for Him, He is glad.
(Does God, like man, feel lonely in the dark?)
He rests His hand upon the watcher's brow —
But more than that, He leaves His very breath
Upon the watcher's soul; and more than this,
He stays for holy hours where watchers pray;
And more than that, He ofttimes lifts the veils
That hide the visions of the world unseen.
The brightest sanctities of highest souls
Have blossomed into beauty in the dark.
How extremes meet! the very darkest crimes
That blight the souls of men are strangely born
Beneath the shadows of the holy night.