Page:Sentimental reciter.pdf/19

 They came and went, and came again,

Till night at last came on;

And still he loiter’d by the grave,

Till all the rest were gone.

And when he found himself alone,

He quick removed the clay;

And rais’d the coffin up in haste,

And bore it swift away.

And when he reach’d his hut, he laid

The coffin on the floor;

And with the eagerness of joy,

He barr’d the cottage door!

And out he took his mother’s corpse

And placed it on a chair;

And then he heap’d the hearth, and blew

The kindling fire with care.

He placed his mother in her chair,

And in her wonted place;

And blew the kindling fire, that shone

Reflected on her face.

And pausing, now her hand would feel,

And now her face behold;

“Why, mother, do you look so pale?

And why are you so cold?"

It hath pleas’d God, from the poor wretch,

His only friend to call;

But God was kind to him, and soon

In death restor’d them all.

The dewy eve, the dewy eve,

Oh! that’s the hour for those that grieve;—

Wo hates the garish light of day,

And from the world hastes far away,

To hide the dimm’d and tearful eye;

To heave unheard the lab’ring sigh;

And cloak in twilight’s pall the grief

That finds in utterance relief,

Soothing and balmy, if but brief.