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18
poems.
"See, mother dear, those lamps that shine.
To give us light below;
If Jesus would come down for me,
You'd surely let me go.

For there the streets are paved with gold,
And hung with crystals bright;"
And, saying this, she'd kiss our cheeks,
And bid us all good night.

A sudden fear would fill our hearts,
Lest our fair home might be
Bereft of this dear loved one's form
And merry voice of glee.

****

The years passed on with rapid flight,
And all was bright and gay;
And still our darling sported round
In youthful, careless play.

At last, the dreaded shadow fell
Over our household band:
Death smiled upon our fairest one;
He grasped her gentle hand.