Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/79

48 No! No! With me through boundless space, Thou shalt delight, my child, to rove; The great good Father sends this grace And spares thee further years, in love.

I take thee hence away, my flower, From those that thee have fondly nurst, But let them greet the last, last hour As joyful as they hailed the first.

Let none wear mourning in this home, No heart keep sorrow as its guest; For souls as pure as ocean-foam The last day is of all the best.'

The angel spoke, and shook his wings, And to the Throne eternal sped, Whence gush for man Life's crystal springs. Poor mother! there thy child lies dead.