Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/111

'Mother! Alas! the light wanes by degrees,
The shadows dance round; while we bend on our knees,
The spirits, perhaps, are floating around,
Oh, wake from thy slumber,—oh, breathe but a sound!
Thou who gavest courage—would'st thou affrighten?
The embers like eyes in the gray ashes lighten.

'God! How these hands are cold! Ope thine eyes!—of late
Thou spakest of our world—our trial state,
And of heaven, and of the tomb, and of the fleeting life,
And of death—the last, last agony and strife;
What then is death? Oh, tell us, mother dear,
Alas! Thou answerest not—this silence kills with fear.'

Their sobbing voices long disturbed the night,
At length the fresh spring dawn appeared with light:
The steeple rang its melancholy chime
From hour to hour,—but not till evening time,
Did a lone traveller through the doorway see
The mother, and the Book, and the children at her knee.