 | Morning Glories : |  |
THE FIRST FLAKES THAT FELL ON MOTHER'S GRAVE.
There's a quiet little spot
That is all the world to me,
Where the treasure of my life so calmly sleeps.
'Tis my dear old mother's grave,
Over which the willows wave,
And the heavenly angels nightly vigils keep.
That is all the world to me,
Where the treasure of my life so calmly sleeps.
'Tis my dear old mother's grave,
Over which the willows wave,
And the heavenly angels nightly vigils keep.
Yes, the dearest face to me,
In this life no more I'll see,
Yet I'll follow in her precepts day by day;
All the birds have lost their song,
All the days seem dark and long,
Since my dearest earthly friend was laid away.
In this life no more I'll see,
Yet I'll follow in her precepts day by day;
All the birds have lost their song,
All the days seem dark and long,
Since my dearest earthly friend was laid away.
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But the winter's biting blast
Cannot chill thee as they pass,
Can not chill thee as they pass,
And the snow doth softly lay upon the ground;
Here alone I sit and grieve,
While the angel's fingers weave
A snowy covering for thy precious mound.
Cannot chill thee as they pass,
Can not chill thee as they pass,
And the snow doth softly lay upon the ground;
Here alone I sit and grieve,
While the angel's fingers weave
A snowy covering for thy precious mound.
Rest, my sainted mother, rest,
On the loving Saviour's breast,
Till the day that he shall come to claim his own;
I shall greet the blood-washed throng,
You the shining ones among,
With songs of praises round the great white throne.
On the loving Saviour's breast,
Till the day that he shall come to claim his own;
I shall greet the blood-washed throng,
You the shining ones among,
With songs of praises round the great white throne.
Peaceful be thy gentle sleep,
Mother, while I sit and weep,
And the willows gently whisper as they wave;
O, thy memory is dear,
And thy spirit hovers near,
While the first flakes are falling on thy grave.
Mother, while I sit and weep,
And the willows gently whisper as they wave;
O, thy memory is dear,
And thy spirit hovers near,
While the first flakes are falling on thy grave.
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