PANSIES
To My Son
FRANK W. STECHHAN
SOME future day when I am dead,
And you will know I am no more,
Alone and silently you'll tread
The winding path, to the old church door.
The past will meet you as a dream,
A tide of awakening mem'ries seem
As though to overwhelm you.
Forgotten love you thought at rest
Will hold full sway within your breast;
Then tears will flow and dim your eyes
From trembling lips a prayer will rise
For me, asleep, in the church-yard nigh,
My name you'll whisper o'er and o'er
While strewing pansies o'er my mound.
But tho' mine ear be deaf to sound
My Spirit bending o'er thee will forgive,
And be thy guardian angel while you live.
And you will know I am no more,
Alone and silently you'll tread
The winding path, to the old church door.
The past will meet you as a dream,
A tide of awakening mem'ries seem
As though to overwhelm you.
Forgotten love you thought at rest
Will hold full sway within your breast;
Then tears will flow and dim your eyes
From trembling lips a prayer will rise
For me, asleep, in the church-yard nigh,
My name you'll whisper o'er and o'er
While strewing pansies o'er my mound.
But tho' mine ear be deaf to sound
My Spirit bending o'er thee will forgive,
And be thy guardian angel while you live.
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