A WALK TO MY OWN GRAVE.[WITH THREE CHILDREN.]
There! do not stop to cry.
"The path is long?—we walk so slow?"
But we shall get there by and by.
Every step that we go
Is one step nearer, you know:
And your mother's grave will be
Such a pretty place to see.
"The path is long?—we walk so slow?"
But we shall get there by and by.
Every step that we go
Is one step nearer, you know:
And your mother's grave will be
Such a pretty place to see.
"Will there be marble there,
With doves, or lambs, or lilies?" No.
Keep white yourselves. Why should you care
If they are as white as snow,
When the lilies can not blow,
And the doves can never moan,
Nor the lambs bleat—in the stone?
With doves, or lambs, or lilies?" No.
Keep white yourselves. Why should you care
If they are as white as snow,
When the lilies can not blow,
And the doves can never moan,
Nor the lambs bleat—in the stone?
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