Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/138

Rh The "Dust to dust," that turns the cheek so pale Of mourning love. Till the green turf is laid, The last sad office of affection o'er, I will not leave thee, sweetest. No, I'll wait Till every lingerer hasteth to his home, And then I'll breathe a prayer beside thy bed, Thou, who so oft hast pour'd thy prayer with me.

I'll be the last to leave thee. O, be first To welcome me above, if, through the trust In my Redeemer's strength, I thither rise from dust.