Classic Poem

What will they bring thee, Sweet, to-morrow's dawn —
Our three-year-old, whose birthday is in heaven?
For the earth-happiness thou hast foregone
What will they do to make the balance even?
Do the grave angels love as mothers love?
And is there one, just one from all the rest,
Whose arms were first to cradle thee above,
To whom thou turnest, whom thou lovest best?

Yea, surely mother-hearts in heaven must beat,
Else 't were not heaven, and God were God no more; —
Could He be happy in His holy seat
If any child stood, homesick, near the door?
Tell that dear angel that doth keep our child
To hold thee close to-morrow, and to press
Upon thy brow grown radiantly mild
All that we would of lingering caress.

Tell her on earth we brought thee toys and flowers,
And told thee stories when thy birthday came;
Say to her that when thou wast wholly ours
With love unspeakable we called thy name;
And when the shadows fell, — rememberest thou? —
How thou didst nestle down in sheltered sleep!
Who sings to thee? Whose arms enfold thee now?
To whom has God my jewel given to keep?

Be not unhappy, Sweet. Enjoy her care;
Go to her first of all the heavenly host;
But, oh, do not forget me, is my prayer!
I am thy mother; — love me still the most.