The Last Walk.

With feeble, failing, faltering feet she trod1
Along the garden’s grassy terraces,2
Through all the rush of sweet spring harmonies,3
Hearing the low, clear summons from her God.4
The river sang along its willowed ways,5
The thrushes filled the air with wooing trills,6
And sweeping down the slope, the daffodils7
Flashed back again the noonday’s living blaze.8
The “ scent of violets, hidden in the green,”9
Stole round her with the west wind’s kisses soft ;10
The daisies glimmered pearl-like on the croft ;11
The blackthorn buds peeped, cleaving sheaths
The sweet, reviving miracle of spring,13
Instinct with life, pervaded earth and sky ;14
While, “ Look on it, and leave it, thou must die,”15
Her doom amid it all was whispering.16
I think the tears—that, to the patient eyes,17
Dimmed all the glory of the April day,18
Though still her Saviour whispered.  “ Come
Were looked on very gently from the skies.20