While yet she lived, she walked alone <br />Among these shades. A voice divine <br />Whispered,-'This spot shall be thine own; <br />Here shall thy wasting form recline, <br />Beneath the shadow of this pine.' <br /> <br /> <br />'Thy will be done!' the sufferer said.- <br />This spot was hallowed from that hour; <br />And, in her eyes, the evening's shade <br />And morning's dew this green spot made <br />More lovely than her bridal bower. <br /> <br /> <br />By the pale moon,-herself more pale <br />And spirit-like,-these walks she trod; <br />And, while no voice, from swell or vale, <br />Was heard, she knelt upon this sod <br />And gave her spirit back to God. <br /> <br /> <br />That spirit, with an angel's wings, <br />Went up from the young mother's bed. <br />So, heavenward, soars the lark and sings;- <br />She's lost to earth and earthly things;- <br />But 'weep not, for she is not dead, <br /> <br /> <br />She sleepeth!'-Yea, she sleepeth here, <br />The first that in these grounds hath slept. <br />This grave, first watered with the tear <br />That child or widowed man hath wept, <br />Shall be by heavenly watchmen kept. <br /> <br /> <br />The babe that lay on her cold breast,- <br />A rose-bud, dropped on drifted snow,- <br />Its young hand in its father's pressed, <br />Shall learn that she, who first caressed <br />Its infant cheek, now sleeps below. <br /> <br /> <br />And often shall he come alone, <br />When not a sound but evening's sigh <br />Is heard, and, bowing by the stone <br />That bears his mother's name, with none <br />But God and guardian angels nigh, <br /> <br /> <br />Shall say,-'This was my mother's choice <br />For her own grave,-O, be it mine! <br />Even now, methinks, I hear her voice <br />Calling me hence, in the divine <br />And mournful whisper of this pine.'<br /><br />John Pierpont<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-chosen-spot/
