Classic Poem

Fold them all up, the clothes she wore,
Each dainty frock and pinafore:
She will not wear them any more.

They were all made with my own hand;
I laid each plait, I wrought each band
With care you could not understand.

" No need, " you said; " a plainer dress
Befits her years: and Art's excess
But hinders Nature's perfectness.

" For see the lilies, how they grow, —
God fashioned them, and yet we know
Not Solomon was apparelled so. "

" Ay, see the lilies, " I replied;
" God made them fair, and I abide
His wisdom who did so decide.

" For He loves beauty everywhere,
And whoso seeks to make more fair
His work, works with Him unaware.

" The hint God gives me I shall take,
And help, in my poor way, to make
His gift complete for His gift's sake. "

Oh, my own Lillie! no more dead
Beneath the lilies, but, instead,
All glory-crowned, and habited

In shining raiment pure and white, —
I think I sinned not in His sight
Who clothes you now with robes of light;

I think I did not err in aught
Because, with mother-care and thought
(Perhaps with mother-pride), I sought

To link with your sweet babyhood
All sweet surroundings, — good with good,
Lovely with lovely, — as I should.

The angels have you now; you wear
Robes fashioned with more subtle care,
And fairer, whiter than these are.

I fret not, sweet! a strange content
Is with my daily yearnings blent;
For, thinking of the way you went,

I see no dismal valley, black
With terrors, — but a shining track
And a white angel looking back!