228 PLANTING FLOWERS
And call'd it blessed thus to grow
So near my precious dead. And when my venturous path shall be
Across the deep, blue sea, I bade it in its beauty rise
And guard that spot for me.
There was no other child, my dead !
To do this deed for thee, Mother ! no other nursling babe
Ere sat upon thy knee, And, Father ! that endearing name
No other lips than mine Ere breath 'd to prompt thy hallow'd prayer
At morn or eve's decline.
Tear not those flowers, thou idle child,
Tear not the flowers that wave, In sweet and holy sanctity,
To deck my parents' grave, Lest guardian angels from the skies,
That watch amid the gloom, Should dart reproachful ire on those
Who desecrate the tomb.
��And spare to pluck my sacred plants, Ye groups that wander nigh,
�� �
