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.
My Father's Child
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