Through this last strange sad year
Beside the graveyard gate
I seem to have stood, there watching bier on bier,
Myself most desolate.

I have seen a beauty radiant as the morn,
A young girl's bloom,
Into that starless blackness borne
We, shuddering, call the tomb:

I have seen a mother's love depart—
Having struck once, O Lord,
Not in its sheath, but in my heart,
Thou hast sheathed thy dripping sword!