Classic Poem

Then Jean Renaud came home from the war,
His body and mind were sick and sore.
" Good-day, my mother. " " Good-day, my son;
Your little child's life has just begun. "

" Arrange, my mother, the great white bed,
That I may lie down and rest my head;
But make no noise, my mother, for fear
My wife on her couch of pain may hear. "

And when the old hamlet clock had tolled
The midnight hour, the death-angel rolled.
Away the stone from the cave of life,
And Jean Renaud passed from sin and strife.

" Mother, dear mother, " his poor wife said,
" Why do they sing as if one were dead? "
" Daughter, dear daughter, 't is but a crowd
That passes us by, chanting aloud. "

" But, mother, my dear, why weep you so?
I see the tears as they shine and flow. "
" Alas! the sad truth I cannot hide,
'Tis our own poor Jean who has just died. "

" O mother, say to the sexton, who
Digs in the earth, that a grave for two
Must be made so very wide and deep
That my husband, I, and our child may sleep. "