If I should die to-night,My friends would look upon my quiet faceBefore they laid it in its resting-place,And deem that death had left it almost fair;And, laying snow-white flowers against my hair,Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness,And fold my hands with lingering caress, --Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!
If I should die to-night,My friends would call to mind with loving thoughtSome kindly deed the icy hands had wrought,Some gentle word the frozen lips had said,Errands on which the willing feet had sped;The memory of my selfishness and pride,My hasty words would all be put aside,And so I should be loved and mourned to-night.
If I should die to-night,Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me,Recalling other days remorsefully;The eyes that chill me with averted glanceWould look upon me as of yore, perchance,And soften in the old familiar way,For who could war with dumb, unconscious clay?So I might rest, forgiven of all to-night.
Oh, friends! I pray to-night,Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow:The way is lonely, let me feel them now.Think gently of me; I am travelworn;My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn.Forgive, oh, hearts estranged, forgive, I plead!When dreamless rest is mine I shall not needThe tenderness for which I long to-night.
