Mother, and at length I find thee: I who mourned thee-the Dead, Wept those parted links Of knowledge Into which thy dear life fled. I SO cared for - Thou wilt meet me At the threshold Of that door, Where weak flesh and blood stands wailing, Bidding farewells evermore.
God permitted - Blest assurance! Yes, each weaned child of earth Finds a ministry of angels Waiting on its second birth. He gives back our best loved kindred, In a bright and holy band, Separate from sin and sorrow, Heralds Of that better land.
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