She’ll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor: Let her take ’em: they are hers: I shall never garden more: But tell her, when I’m gone, to train the rose-bush that I set About the parlour-window and the box of mignonette. Good-night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born.[13]> All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn; But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year, So, if your waking, call me, call me early, mother dear. [1] 1833. The may upon. [2] 1833. Ye’ll bury me. [3] 1833. And ye’ll come. [4] 1833. I shall not forget ye, mother, I shall hear ye when ye pass. [5] 1833. But ye’ll forgive. [6] 1833. Ye’ll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow. 1850. And foregive me ere I go. [7] 1833. Ye must not weep. [8] 1833. Ye ... ye. [9] 1833. Ye’ll. [10] 1833. Ye. [11] 1833. Ye when ye think. [12] 1833. Ye. [13] 1833. Call me when it begins to dawn. 1842. Before the day is born. Conclusion Added in 1842. I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am; And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb. How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year! To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet’s here. O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, And sweeter is the young lamb’s voice to me that cannot rise, And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow, And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go. It seem’d so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun, And now it seems as hard to stay, and yet His will be done! But still I think it can’t be long before I find release; And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace.[1] O blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair! And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there! O blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver head! A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed. He taught me all the mercy, for he show’d[2] me all the sin. Now, tho’ my lamp was lighted late, there’s One will let me in: Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be, For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me. I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat, There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet: But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine, And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign. All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call; It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all; The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll, And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul. For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear; I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here; With all my strength I pray’d for both, and so I felt resign’d, And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind.