One night, returning from my work, I saw
A woman standing by the churchyard gate,
And in her eyes a look of solemn awe
And sadness, such as comes to mortal state
When the heart loses, by one sudden touch,
Its all on earth, or what is held as such.
I paused a moment, for I thought if she
Was there a mourner for the dead who lie
In such sweet sleep, it were a sin in me
To mar with idle step the sanctity
Of all her tears and wishes, for I ween
A woman's sorrow never should be seen.
So, with a footstep suited to her thought
And the still place, I pass'd her, but askance
I stole a look when she could see me not—
Grief seldom sees—and, following the glance
Of her tear-dimm'd and earnest-gazing eyes,
I saw a fresh new grave of tiny size.
And then it struck me that, three days before,
A little one, aweary with the dearth
Of joys upon this cold, unfeeling shore,
Had left with angels for a brighter earth—
Where the long day hath never tears nor sleep,
And this was the pale mother come to weep.
I could not check the sudden tears that came,
Brought by the fancy that within its cell
The little one would have in death the same
All kindred love and instinct that could tell
Its mother kept a tender watch above,
And so would tremble to return her love.
So all that evening, sitting by the fire,
I still could see the mother, pale and wan,
With the great love within that nought could tire,
From Nature and her all-mysterious plan,
Standing a pale, meek, earnest worshipper,
Over the little dust so dear to her.
O sacred grief, O deep and yearning love,
The very type of God's! I raise my eyes
In feeble worship to the sky above,
Beaming with stars, and bless those dear sweet ties
That lift us from this earth and our own clay,
Nearer to the Almighty and His day!