M * * *

When I am dead, and all will soon forget      My words, and face, and ways --     I, somehow, think I'll walk beside thee yet      Adown thy after days.     I die first, and you will see my grave;      But child! you must not cry;     For my dead hand will brightest blessings wave      O'er you from yonder sky.     You must not weep; I believe I'd hear your tears      Tho' sleeping in a tomb:     My rest would not be rest, if in your years      There floated clouds of gloom.     For -- from the first -- your soul was dear to mine,      And dearer it became,     Until my soul, in every prayer, would twine      Thy name -- my child! thy name.     You came to me in girlhood pure and fair,      And in your soul -- and face --     I saw a likeness to another there      In every trace and grace.     You came to me in girlhood -- and you brought      An image back to me;     No matter what -- or whose -- I often sought      Another's soul in thee.     Didst ever mark how, sometimes, I became --      Gentle though I be --     Gentler than ever when I called thy name,      Gentlest to thee?     You came to me in girlhood; as your guide      I watched your spirit's ways;     We walked God's holy valleys side by side,      And so went on the days.     And so went on the years -- 'tis five and more;      Your soul is fairer now;     A light as of a sunset on a shore      Is falling on my brow --     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.