THE CHILD AT HER MOTHER’S GRAVE.
In that little room of thine
Sweet sleep has
come to thee.
Ah, mother! dearest mother
mine!
O, call me to that room of
thine;
O, shut it not
from me.
I would so gladly be with
thee,
And be thy child
again.
’Tis cold and stormy
here with me.
Tis warm, and O, so
still with thee.
O, let me, let
me in.
Thou took’st me gladly
once with thee,
So gladly held’st
my hand!
O, see! thou hast forsaken
me.
Take me, this time,
again with thee
Into the heavenly
land.