He wandered away, not heeding where, To a lonely grave, where a willow fair Whispered sweet words to the summer air. But he saw not the long, lithe branches wave, For only a weary look he gave At his own black shadow, across the grave. And he shook his head, As he gloomily said, “This shadow will haunt me till I am dead!” “Nay, nay, good David!” a voice replied. He turned him quickly, and close by his side Stood old Goody Gay, known far and wide. Though Time had stolen her bloom away, And changed the gold of her locks to gray, Her face was bright as the summer day. “Don’t shake your head!” She cheerfully said, “But face the sunshine, good man, instead!” With a hopeless look, and a sigh profound, He sat himself down by the grassy mound, Where the bright-eyed daisies grew thick around. “Nay, leave me,” he said, in a sullen tone, “For I and the shadow would be alone; No balm of healing for me is known. It will be as I said, This thing that I dread, This shadow, will haunt me till I am dead.” The good dame answered, “O, David Bell! Why will ye be ringing your own heart’s knell? For I tell ye this, that I know full well-- The blesséd Father, who loves us all, Who notices even a sparrow’s fall, Is never deaf to His children’s call; His love is our light In the darkest night: Just turn to _that_ sunshine, and all is right.” “In this very grave did I lay to rest, With his pale hands folded upon his breast, The one of all others I loved the best. And then, though my heart in its anguish yearned, My face to the sunshine I ever turned, And thus a great lesson of life I learned; Which you, too, will find, If you will but mind, That thus, all life’s shadows are cast behind.” He gazed in her earnest face as she spoke, And then a light o’er his features broke, As if new life in his soul awoke. There was something so bright in that summer day, And the cheerful language of Goody Gay, That his morbid fancies were charmed away; And he said, “I will try, For it may be, that I Shall escape this shadow before I die.” He turned him around on the grassy knoll, And flush o’er his forehead and into his soul The warmth of the gladdening sunshine stole. The good dame lifted a willow bough, And gently laid her hand on his brow-- “Say, David, where is your shadow now? The shadow has fled, But ye are not dead. Look up to the sunshine, man! Hold up your head!”