Classic Poem

In those last days ere I was left alone —
Days saddest, yet most sacred, I have known —
Seven words she spake, which in my heart shall live
Till sister Death my parting sign shall give.
Write not those words, my hand! but let them be
A holy secret between her and me.

On one I think each morn when dawn is gray,
And keep it for my solace through the day;
And so, within the compass of the week,
All seven I seem to hear my angel speak,
Ah me! but seem — yet will I not repine;
I mourn not my own sufferings, dear! but thine.