When the four quarters of the world shall rise, Men, women, children, at the Judgment-time, Perchance this Memphian girl, dead ere her prime, Shall drop her mask, and with dark new-born eyes Salute our English Mary, lov'd and lost; The Father knows her little scroll of prayer, And life as pure as His Egyptian air; For, though she knew not Jesus, nor the cost At which He won the world, she learn'd to pray; And though our own sweet babe on Christ's good name Spent her last breath, premonish'd and advis'd Of Him, and in His glorious Church baptiz'd, She will not spurn this old-world child away, Nor put her poor embalmed heart to shame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DIBDIN'S GHOST by EUGENE FIELD THE FLIGHT OF THE GODDESS by CELIA THAXTER INVITATION TO A PAINTER: 1 by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM TWO SONNETS FROM NEW YORK: TOWERS by ADELAIDE NICHOLS BAKER DRAB BONNETS by BERNARD BARTON NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 16 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE SONG OF THE ELEMENTS by MARY ANN BROWNE |