When morning came, they told me life had fled;
I saw my father’s brow with paleness clad,
I saw my mother raise her aching head,
And they both told me that our Jane was dead—
But that she was in Heaven! Then all drew near,
And, while they knelt around, my father pray’d;
He held my thin pale hand—and, O, that prayer!
His solemn deep toned voice e’en now I seem to hear!
XXXVI.
Well—let that pass. My honor’d father lives—