My Father's Child

About her head or floating feet   No halo’s starry gleam, Still dark and swift uprising, like   A bubble in a stream,— A soul, from whose rejoicing heart   The bonds of earth were riven, Sped upward through the silent night   To the closed Gates of Heaven. And waiting heard a voice,—“Who comes   To claim Eternity? Hero or saint that bled and died   Mankind to save and free?” She bent her head. The voice once more,—   “Didst thou then toil and live For home and children—to thy Love   Last breath and heart’s blood give?” Her head sank lower still, she clasped   Her hands upon her breast: “Oh, no!” she whispered, “my dim life   Has never been so blest! “I trod a lonely, barren path,   And neither great nor good, Gained not a hero’s palm, nor won   The crown of motherhood! “Oh, I was naught!” Yet suddenly   The white lips faintly smiled— “Save, oh, methinks I was mayhap   My Heavenly Father’s Child!” A flash of light, a cry of joy,   And with uplifted eyes The soul, through gates rolled open wide,   Passed into Paradise.