She put him on a snow-white shroud,
A chaplet on his head;
And gathered early primroses
To scatter o'er the dead

She laid him in his little grave,
'Twas hard to lay him there
When spring was putting forth its flowers,
And everything was fair.

She had lost many children-now
The last of them was gone,
And day and night she sat and wept
Beside the funeral stone.

One midnight, while her constant tears
Were falling with the dew,
She heard a voice, and lo! her child
Stood by her, weeping too!

His shroud was damp, his face was white,
He said,"I cannot sleep,
Your tears have made my shroud so wet,
Oh, mother, do not weep!"

Oh, love is strong!...the mother's heart
Was filled with tender fears,
Oh,love is strong!...and for her child,
Her grief restrained its tears.

One eve a light shone round her bed,
And there she saw him stand.
Her infant in his little shroud,
A taper in his hand.

"Lo! mother, see my shroud is dry,
And I can sleep once more!"
And beautiful the parting smile
The little infant wore!

And down within the silent grave
He laid his weary head,
And soon the early violets,
Grew o'er his grassy bed.

The mother went her household ways
Again she knelt in prayer,
And only asked of heaven its aid
Her heavy lot to bear.

Author: Letitia E. Landon