Classic Poem

He left me for a foreign land:
I could not even free
One little tear to gem the hand
That God had given me;
For " I will follow soon, my dear, "
I laughed with girlish air, —
" The sun that cheers our pathway here
Shall beam upon us there! "

And so we parted. . . . Listen, God! —
I may not even free
One little tear to dew the sod
Where, sleeping peacefully,
He waits in foreign lands — my dear!
But prophecy and prayer, —
" The sun that cheers our pathway here
Shall beam upon us — there! "