Death of the Flower
I love my mother, the wildwood, I sleep upon her breast； A day or two of childhood, And then I sink to rest.
I had once a lovely sister —— She was cradled by my side； But one Summer day I missed her —— She had gone to deck a bride.
And I had another sister, With cheeks all bright with bloom； And another morn I missed her —— She had gone to wreathe a tomb.
And they told me they had withered, On the bride's brow and the grave； Half an hour, and all their fragrance Died away, which heaven gave.
Two sweet-faced girls came walking Thro' my lonely home one day, And I overheard them talking Of an altar on their way.
They were culling flowers around me, And I said a little prayer To go with them —— and they found me —— And upon an altar fair,
Where the Eucharist was lying On its mystical death-bed, I felt myself a-dying, While the Mass was being said.
But I lived a little longer, And I prayed there all the day, Till the evening Benediction, When my poor life passed away.
I love my mother, the wildwood, I sleep upon her breast； A day or two of childhood, And then I sink to rest.
I had once a lovely sister —— She was cradled by my side； But one Summer day I missed her —— She had gone to deck a bride.
And I had another sister, With cheeks all bright with bloom； And another morn I missed her —— She had gone to wreathe a tomb.
And they told me they had withered, On the bride's brow and the grave； Half an hour, and all their fragrance Died away, which heaven gave.
Two sweet-faced girls came walking Thro' my lonely home one day, And I overheard them talking Of an altar on their way.
They were culling flowers around me, And I said a little prayer To go with them —— and they found me —— And upon an altar fair,
Where the Eucharist was lying On its mystical death-bed, I felt myself a-dying, While the Mass was being said.
But I lived a little longer, And I prayed there all the day, Till the evening Benediction, When my poor life passed away.