"To Her the Blessed Sleep"

"To Her the Blessed Sleep"

The crocus-cups had opened

        Their beauty to the sun,

The haxels were outhanging

        Their tassels, one by one;

The violets were blowing,

        The cold, dark days were done.

The meadow-larks were singing

        That February day,

Their notes as clear and joyous

        As though the month were May,

When we went, broken-hearted,

        To bear the child away.

So we shall always see her

        Among the blooms at rest,

The peace upon her forehead,

        The violets on her breast;

And hear about her singing

        The love-larks of the West.

Yea, tho’ our hopes lie buried

        With her low, low and deep,

This thought shall be our comfort

        The while we sit and weep:

God gave to us the sorrow,

        To her the blessed sleep.

"To Her the Blessed Sleep" as it appears in Ella Higginson's The Voice of April-Land (1903).