Classic Poem

When the long shadows on my path are lying,
Will those I love be gathered at my side;
Clustered around my couch of pain, and trying
To light the dark way, trod without a guide?

Shall it be mine, beyond the tossing billow,
Neath foreign skies, to feel the approach of death,
Will stranger hands smooth down my dying pillow,
And watch with kindly heart my failing breath?

Or shall, perchance, the little stars be shining
On some lone spot, where, far from home and friends,
The way-worn pilgrim on the turf reclining,
His life and much of grief together ends?

Ah! whereso'er the closing scene may find me,
'Mid friends or foemen or in deserts lone,
May there be some of those I leave behind me
To shed a tear for me when I am gone.

Full well I know life's current, onward rushing,
Sweeps hearts away from spots where they would cling,
And by life's shores fair flowers are ever blushing,
That o'er the waves a Lethean fragrance fling.

Yet when the thousand gales of morn are blowing,
Or when the bright moon gilds the solemn sea,
And the sweet stars their smiles on earth are throwing,
In the wide world, will none remember me?