I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when

you pass,

With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.

I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me

now;

You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere

I go;

Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.

If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting

place;

Tho' you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your

face;

Tho' I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you

say,

And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away.

Good-night, good-night; when I have said good-night for

evermore,

And you see me carried out from the threshold of the

door:

Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing

green :

She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.

She'll find my garden tools upon the granary floor;
Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden

more:

But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set

About the parlour-window, and the box of mignionette.

Good night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born.

All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;

But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year, So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.

CONCLUSION.

I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive I am ; And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb.

How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year! To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet's

here.

O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise,

And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow,

And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go.

E

It seem'd so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed

sun,

And now it seems as hard to stay, and yet His will be

done!

But still I think it can't be long before I find release ; And that good man. the clergyman, has told me words of peace.

O blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair! And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there!

O blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver head! A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed.

He taught me all the mercy, for he show'd me all the sin: Now, tho' my lamp was lighted late, there's One will let me in:

Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be, For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me.

I did not hear the dog bowl, mother, or the deathwatch beat,

There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet:

But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in

mine,

And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign.

All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call; It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all;

The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll, And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul.

For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear; I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here; With all my strength I pray'd for both, and so I felt resign'd,

And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind.

I thought that it was fancy, and I listen'd in my bed, And then did something speak to me-I know not what was said;

For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind,

And up the valley came again the music on the wind.

But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for them: it's mine."

And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a

sign.

And once again it came, and close beside the window

bars,

Then seem'd to go right up to Heaven and die among

the stars.

So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know
The blessed music went that way my soul will have to go.
And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day.
But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am past away.

And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret; There's many worthier than I, would make him happy yet.

If I had lived-I cannot tell-I might have been his

wife,

But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life.

O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a

glow;

He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I

know.

And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine

Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine.

O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done

The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the

sun

For ever and for ever with those just souls and true— And what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado?