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If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother

dear, For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-Year. It is the last New-Year that I shall ever see, Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and think no

more of me.

To-night I saw the sun set; he set and left behind
The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace

of mind; And the New-Year's coming up, mother, but I shall

never see The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.

Last May we made a crown of flowers; we had a merry

day ; Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me :: Queen of May; And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel

copse, Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white


There's not a flower on all the hills : the frost is on the

pane: I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again :

I wish the snow would melt, and the sun come out on

high : I long to see a flower so before the day I die.

The building rook ’ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree,
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,
And the swallow 'll come back again with summer o'er

the wave, But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering


Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that graves of

• mine, In the early, early morning, the summer sun 'll shine, Before the red-cock crows from the farm upon the hill, 'When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world

is still.

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the

waning light; You'll never see me more in the long grey fields at

night; When from the dry, dark wold, the summer airs blow

cool, On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush

in the pool.

You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn

shade, · And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am

lowly laid.

I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when

you pass, With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant


I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me

now; You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I!

go; Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another


If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting.!

place ; Tho’you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your

face; Tho' I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you


And be often, often with you when you think I'm far:


Good-night, good-night; when I have said good-night for

evermore, And you see me carried out from the threshold of the

door : Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing

green :She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.

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 mignionette.

Good night, sweet mother : call me before the day is


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 you're waking, call me, call me early, mother



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


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.

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 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 morn

ing 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.

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