Day dawned;—within a curtained room,
Filled to faintness with perfume,
A lady lay at point of doom.
Day closed;—a Child had seen the light:
But, for the lady fair and bright,
She rested in undreaming night.
Spring rose;—the lady’s grave was green;
And near it, oftentimes, was seen
A gentle Boy with thoughtful mien.
Years fled;—he wore a manly face,
And struggled in the world’s rough race,
And won at last a lofty place.
And then he died! Behold before ye
Humanity’s poor sum and story;
Life,—Death,—and all that is of Glory.