IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHTBy Belle E.

SmithIF 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 thought,Some 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 travel-worn;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.

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